Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Five becomes four becomes three becomes two becomes one becomes none.

The Lamb had emerged victorious in his battles against us. My sister and my brothers had perished under the yoke of the red crown, entrusted to this traitor. It was then my turn; as with the other bishops, the Lamb had no pity towards me and, despite the difficulty I may have given him, he triumphed once again. For some reason, he brought me back to life. Here I am now in a strange community that seems to obey him and know us.

I can't say how, but the lamb performed a ritual bringing me back to the world of the living, in a more frail form, frail like him. My sister and brothers were there, waiting for my return. When they realized that my presence was indeed no less than real, Leshy was the first to rush towards me, without delay; he sniffed and touched every part of me that came under his paws, seizing on every smell and sensation he could find, as if he couldn't believe it and that if he let me go, everything would disappear. At the very end, he grabbed my head, and lifted his head. It seemed to me that, if he still had his eyes, he would have looked into mine to welcome me and ask for my forgiveness.

Kallamar was petrified for a while. He barely dared to look in my direction, as if the weight of that look could have broken me. However, when Leshy moved aside, he finally came closer to examine me, as thoroughly as he could. He counted each of my arms, then each of my hands, then each of my fingers, then each of my eyes. He spent an endless amount of time counting my eyes and examining my head from every angle he could find, looking for any injuries. I wonder what caused my brothers to be so worried.

Then came my sister Heket’s turn. During the reunion with Leshy and Kallamar, she stayed back. She stared at us, looking sheepish and deeply hurt, without coming towards us. I sensed in her eyes an immense guilt which was eating her away from all sides, yes, that is it: she didn't come closer because she blamed herself, for everything that happened to the crown bearers, including herself . Kallamar came to help me get up, then guided me to my sister, step by step. Although my arms were trembling, once close enough, I tightened them around her with difficulty. When she felt my embrace, she hugged me so tightly that my bones could have cracked, then put her head on my shoulder, and finally, burst into tears. I couldn't bring myself to dry them, I don't know why. So, instead, I let Heket shed as many tears as she needed.

Our brothers finally joined in this embrace. We haven't had family time like this in ages, and they all enjoyed it like it was their last. I hadn't felt such peace in centuries, and the relief of some semblance of a return to normal was so strong, it could have crushed me. My head hurts. My eyes will go moldy. I think I have lost the memory of the times when we were united like this without being able to be torn from each other; I lost those times, and I hope to find them again.

I saw the Lamb. He was watching us from the beginning, a smile on his lips, as if he was enjoying this moment too. He took the initiative to show me around. This community worships the power of the red crown, which now belongs to ihim, and has built an entire camp which seems maintained by mutual help and sharing. Although they are under the orders of the Lamb, his followers are relatively autonomous: they build, cultivate and cook a wide variety of dishes in a setting that seems welcoming to them. A little is enough to bring them happiness, which they share between each other, sometimes inviting "heretics" to join them. My whole family died because of me. I saw the fields, the decorations, a temple, and their place of prayer, where a large statue of the Lamb is erected; I do notice that modesty is not one of his qualities. I appreciated the calm surroundings during my walk, and I must admit that getting some fresh air did me the greatest good. I didn't feel like I was too much, simply "here". On the other hand, I find it absurd and completely disgusting that followers allow themselves to defecate on the ground. It won't take any effort for Kallamar to make them all fall ill. I hope I never walk in their droppings.

I am in a collective shelter. The Lamb built it for us, ancient crown-bearers. So I will live there with my sister and my brothers, for the moment. Their beds are relatively different from each other: Heket has made a little isolated but warm corner reminiscent of Anura, Kallamar has obtained several blankets and Leshy seems to be content with a hole in the ground, decorated with camellias. It's a fairly comfortable and friendly place, and I'm thinking of weaving a hammock there so I can swing from time to time. Kallamar told me to stay here and get plenty of rest today. He also gave me some rather incongruous advice.

He says I'm losing my mind. That over time, I will hurt myself. That I cannot heal alone, at least not yet. He therefore asked me to write a diary in order, according to him, to follow my progress. Every day, I will have to confide my thoughts, my problems and the solutions I find by writing them down on paper. I don't know the point of such a measure, since no one will read these words, but Kallamar says it will protect us all and he is not going to budge. I failed to protect my family, twice; I must seize this new chance.

Leshy, I will be your eyes. I will transmit to you all the beauty of the world that you cannot feel by touch.
Heket, I will be your voice. All these words that you cannot say, I will weave them with a soft and silky thread.
Kallamar, I will be your ears. Every sound you cannot hear, I will make visible to you.

Narinder, I don't know if you're with us. I have heard the followers of the Lamb talk about you, but our brothers and sister avoid the subject. I must speak with the Lamb about you; he has been around you for a while, so he surely has valuable knowledge that would be useful to me.

Narinder, if you dare to break us a second time, I won't settle for a chain. I will kill you.

Chapter Text

This traitor is among us. The lamb had killed him, like us, and brought him back to life, like us. I wonder about such a choice: he had already taken the red crown and formed his community, he already has all the power he could dream of, if only he dares to dream of it. He had no need to bring Narinder back among us, and yet here he is, at his side as if the prophecy was only a children's tale. How dare they pretend for peace after everything that happened, especially between them?

Speaking of this community, the followers are very welcoming, even naive. All blindly worship the lamb without disputing its immense power, although some are sometimes skeptical, in which case they end up in chains. This reminds me of something, it's strange. The followers are caring and give of themselves every day. They cultivate the land, help each other, pray and confess their sins. Trust in the Lamb seems to be their ultimate common point. They do everything possible to ensure that everyone has a pleasant life, some even come to check on me. On the other hand, they become totally incompetent in the absence of the Lamb; They wander aimlessly and just eat their fill and, sometimes unfortunately, pick up their droppings. Narinder then placed himself in charge, directing everyone's work and supposed to ensure general order, like a sort of leader. I don't understand, he follows orders but gives them, he seems to hate submission to those stronger than him but treats the Lamb as his equal. Actually, I never understood him. Maybe that's why our bonds fell apart. If I get to know him better, maybe I can solve this problem.

I am not participating in community work at the moment. Kallamar is categorically against it, he thinks that my wounds are too fresh and that I risk aggravating them. My fingers will melt on contact with my acidic silk. Kallamar is both the community's doctor and engineer, making sure everyone is alive and able to perform tasks, so I think I should listen to him about my health. However, if I may dare to express myself in this way, I look forward to moving around independently. Compared to the freedom I had in the Silk cradle, this tent is starting to feel small. I won't go as far as going on an expedition at the moment, but according to some fans, games are a good way to emotionally connect with others, and I'd like to give it a try. Something is wearing Narinder's skin.

Heket watches over me and seems to be looking forward to seeing my complete recovery. Today she prepared me a soup with products from Anura; the bowl was warm without burning my hands, kind of like I'd held them out in front of a bonfire, and gave off a sweet smell of pumpkin and mushrooms. This sensation gave me a disconcerting sense of tranquility. Heket didn't want to leave until I finished my bowl, and watched my every move waiting for me to finally taste the concoction, even offering to spoon-feed me if that was my desire. Are my wounds so deep that they disrupt my meals? Poison will flow through every one of my veins. I have to heal myself, for my own good. I have to get better, for everyone's sake. In a burst of resignation and despite the hunger that was not felt, I brought the bowl to my mandibles, and drank each drop of the mixture one sip at a time, in order to soothe my sister's mind, who ended up leaving the tent, wearing an expression of relief. I wonder why the simple fact that I ate soup is enough for her, but if this is the result, maybe I should eat soup more often.

I don't know why, but since my resurrection, I feel a certain peace deep within me. It's a bit as if something long and painful had come to an end. This soup was okay though, I drank it all and Leshy even licked the bowl. I probably am on the wrong track, but I can't name this feeling at the moment. The unknown is definitely something very annoying.

What troubles me the most is Narinder. Today he came to the tent of the bishops, accompanied by the Lamb whom he held by the hand, as we often did in his childhood. I will die at the hands of my own brother. The Lamb apparently wanted to organize a proper reunion for us, however, as soon as he left, silence reigned supreme. Several hours passed without us exchanging a single word; our looks said everything to each other, and left no room for any other form of dialogue no matter which it was. He was angry at me for not having anything to tell him, I was angry at him for not telling me what happened before my resurrection. He blamed himself for destroying our family, I blamed myself for not having managed to protect us all. Our new family union is formed by the guilt that devours our skin and flesh, step by step and without the slightest pity. It takes up every space that can be, suffocates us, condemns us to a bitter silence that we do not have the power to overcome, not yet. This silence is probably unbearable for all former crown bearers, so Narinder eventually left the tent, leaving me face to face with my doubts. We fought together for the first time in our lives, but today, silence won. Next time, I will be the one to defeat it, and I will reduce it to nothing; war is one of my strengths and I refuse defeat, whatever happens.

Kallamar was the last to come see me. Once again he counted my limbs and eyes, but this time I also had to do movement, speech and thinking exercises. He took careful notes on my every move. Generally speaking, he pays great attention to each stage of my healing, even if he does not benefit from it. My mandibles will melt from my own venom. He thinks I should get some fresh air from time to time; according to him, my steps are disturbed by my brain injuries, but with a little training, I will regain my strength shortly. He notices so many details about me that it impresses me - he didn't have this caring temperament before Narinder was defeated, instead he could be timid, even cowardly at times. It was with this single observation that Kallamar went to bed, still looking worried, but without wanting to talk about it.

Leshy came multiple times. Unlike my brothers and sister, he was very energetic every time. He rolled around in a ball and tried as best he could to make small dirt sculptures. Often he would give up, breaking his work by hitting it with his head before shaking it clean, then starting again. According to the Lamb, since his resurrection, he is rarely so joyful: he is more accustomed to taking a defensive position.
It reminds me of when he was just a child. Still blessed with his sight, he had fun making little figurines for hours which he then distributed to our siblings. When the product was intended for me, the character always had eight limbs. Proud of himself but exhausted, he then came to snuggle up against me to take a nap that was long, but  well deserved according to him. I never dared to wake him, but sometimes I would weave a blanket for him which he then kept preciously, despite their condition sometimes much deteriorated by time and play. I haven't weaved as well since my resurrection. I hope to find my skill again soon, this hammock is not going to weave itself.

Even though I have lost my mind, according to the Lamb, I can still cherish these memories, no matter how insignificant they may seem to me. He says that they are the most precious thing I have and that now that I am in his community, I can protect them without fear of destroying everything else. Why can't Narinder do the same despite our pleas? Are we, bishops of the old faith, to blame for this tragedy?

My silk is strangling me. I can't say if the writing is doing anything to me at the moment. I don't feel any particular difference with my initial state. Maybe I need to keep writing, it shouldn't cost me anything except time. Leshy asked me if I would ever read these pages to him, with a hint of sadness in his voice. I didn't know what to answer, because I don't know. I don't know anything about my future and just saying it seems to make the question that much more complex. My flesh is just an illusion. I don't even know if I will share this future with my family, and if it is good news or, on the contrary, a curse.

The Lamb told me that he would ensure our reconciliation. However, can I trust the power of the Red Crown again, after the disaster that was last time?
Will the Lamb remain a traitor?

Chapter Text

Under pressure from the Lamb, I had to go out today to take a walk in the camp in his company, which I could perfectly do without. The carefree attitude of the followers is almost touchable; they continue to live according to their desires as if death were only a name, and don't seem to care about anything else, which deeply disturbs me. Some greet me as one of their own, others give me respect worthy of the deity I once was. It is strange, but it seems to preserve some peace, so I accept it. Peace is of great importance these days, I am aware of that now.

Life in this society intrigues me in every way, death will befall them. No one seems to be given a specific task, everyone is content to follow the orders of the Lamb. They express almost no will of their own, whether out of fear, admiration of the Lamb or laziness. Why don't they take initiatives? Some people sometimes dare to make requests to the Lamb but they stop there. Only Narinder is an exception.

Speaking of which, I still do not trust Narinder yet. I refuse to believe that a sacrificial beast made him harmless overnight, for whatever reason could be. Narinder is impulsive, sometimes violent. He fights with his instincts and flatly refuses any other type of direction. Yet he seems to blame himself for everything that happened. Is he trying to redeem himself or trick us? In both cases, his behavior is suspicious; He has never been so docile with us, even when he was a child. Even Heket wasn't that aggressive on a daily basis. Could it be because of me? Were there flaws in my education? We will all die once again, and he will watch, and chains will no longer be able to hold him. According to the Lamb, my sister and my other brothers, I should finish healing before seeking answers. However, I fear that I cannot afford it, and that these answers are precisely what will cure me.

I eat more and more, and varied dishes. I still do not feel any appetite, but I do manage to enjoy a good meal, which seems particularly touching to my sister. Intriguing, coming from the one who used to spread starvation in this cult. However, I also secrete a lot of venom. This isn't a problem for meat, but it melts vegetables, creating a kind of mushy, smelly paste that no one would want. I wonder if I can melt someone's flesh like that. My own hands could melt.

During my walk, I saw my crown. Displayed on a stone post, there, near the statue of prayers, like a trophy forcefully taken from its deceased holder by tears and blood. In my case, no tears, but a failure in which I drown endlessly. It's terribly unpleasant and the more I think about it, the more my head hurts. I decided to return to the shelter after such a vision, because the idea made me boil of shame.
Is the Lamb proud of his accomplishments? He escaped sacrifice and now displays the symbols of a past glory, as if they were his own. Our crowns, once weapons and tools of divine power, are now nothing more than vulgar trophies used for decoration. Leshy would be furious if he saw what happened to his crown, even though he probably already knows. He was apparently the second to be resurrected; the first was Narinder. They probably felt a a great loneliness and, knowing their temperaments, they probably argued more than once before the rest of our siblings arrived.
And the Lamb does not seem to care at all. And the Lamb speaks to us of ancient writings, of old rituals. And the Lamb tells how he countered the prophecy and took power of the red crown. And with each of his words, I wonder why it is not me who can tell such stories, instead of the one who should have died to compensate for our mistakes.

Narinder is always in the Lamb's paws. He follows his trail, almost finding himself walking in his footprints. Even as a child, he did the same thing: he constantly followed Kallamar and me, claiming to be afraid of the dark, or the monster under his bed. By staying by our side like this, I suppose he was looking for an environment of protection, or familiarity, that could keep him away from anything that might be more powerful than him. Since he still does it, it would mean that the Lamb has managed to offer him this feeling of safety. Perhaps if he had known the Lamb earlier, all this would not have happened. The Lamb probably could have stopped the prophecy from happening without it ending in bloodshed. The five become one then nothing. This “nothing” is probably me, who has failed in all my goals.

I continue to keep my diary but I see no point in it. Although I believe Kallamar in this approach to care, I do not feel any progress at the moment. On the contrary, I have the feeling that everyone here is doing progress, except me. Is it just me who keeps failing in my task? The Lamb does not seem to think so, quite the opposite; he encourages me and often checks in on me, as if he also benefits from this care. I don't know why he pays so much attention to me, but I am wary of this curious character: I can't find any reason that pushes him to be so attentive to me, except perhaps a design even darker than the prophecy. I must prepare to kill him with my own hands, if that is the case.

I remember a confrontation with the Lamb at the Silk craddle, one of our first. Instead of bowing as I demanded, he held on my gaze, imposing his power and courage on me. Perhaps that's what Narinder saw when we chained him: overwhelming power and oppressive courage. Perhaps I was also trying to protect something that day, but it was already too late for our family, and I don't think chaining a deity protects them. What remains then in this tragedy?

Narinder doesn't seem to be asking so many questions. He has taken on a new daily life which, despite his annoyed expression, seems to suit him due to its apparent stability. Death will pick me up by cutting off my skull. When he passes by us, he avoids us by pretending to be busy. My siblings were also unable to get him to have a real conversation, only receiving refusals. He avoids us as best he can. We haven't regained his trust yet and I'm trying to figure out how we can do it.
During my walk, I saw followers engaging in different activities. Disease and starvation will slowly kill them. They transmit their ideas to each other through drinking parties, or through arts such as music and dance. They didn't always speak, but their bonds seemed strengthened by these moments of sharing. I would like to take part in them to understand these interactions.
At a turn, I surprised Heket and Kallamar in what I thought was a lively conversation. Out of curiosity, I then approached them with the idea of joining them, only to realize that almost no words were said: my sister and my brother were making various arm gestures, to which they seemed to associate specific meanings. They were teaching each other. When Heket was not satisfied, she dealt a sharp blow to Kallamar, who returned it, and they argued for a few moments before resuming their mutual course.
Thinking it might benefit me as well, I took a seat next to them. They were surprised, but allowed me to stay and watch their exchange. I followed their learning by carefully mimicking their gestures, feeling great interest in this way of interacting, which my sister ended up noticing. She immediately wanted to test me, and finally gave me the observation that I was doing wonderfully. I could have sworn I saw her holding back a smile, which is a shame, because I have not seen her this happy in a long time. Kallamar also seemed touched by my performance, but he had turned his head. I thought I saw a tear fall, something he immediatly denied, claiming there was dust in his eye, but I know I wasn't dreaming because Heket immediately made fun of him. They argued again, but for the first time in centuries, I didn't sense any ill will. We simply, and without anything to drown us into terror, shared a friendly moment.

I came away from this walk with more questions than answers. This community is too different from what I have known for me to find reference points there, so I must build new ones. However, I think I found a way to strike up a conversation with Narinder. I don't know why, but I feel incapable of completely healing without reconnecting with him; thanks to this gestural language that I am starting to learn, I will perhaps finally be able to express my thoughts. I might also try sharing a meal with him, since it worked with my sister.

Despite everything, I continue to distrust the Lamb. I can't understand the way he acts towards us. Just because he resurrected us and gave us a home doesn't mean I will let my guard down. I will not allow myself a third failure. Was this his purpose for me to question his accomplishments so much?

I must get closer to my sister and my brothers former bishops, then to Narinder, and finally to the Lamb. This time, no prophecy will be able to break our peace. If necessary, I will bring war on everyone else.

Chapter Text

Everything seems paradoxical to me since my resurrection, starting with writing. This practice is, for me, both invigorating and exhausting. I don't know if everything needs to be written down but I enjoy talking about trivialities. I need to know how to balance things so that my healing goes best. What if my crown had only been a mirage? Shame on those who find such a process easy, even though they have never had to fight against themselves. Shame on those who dare to think me weak, if there are any. A war cannot be won with the first strike of the sword, I know that only too well.

I'm not giving up hope about talking to Narinder. Today I tried to engage in a conversation with him while he was working. He was distributing hot meals to followers. I patiently waited for my turn, and once it came, I was finally able to greet him. I thought then that I had reached victory with my fingertips, but silence once again took over: Narinder wanted me to leave, and after a somewhat awkward pause, he made me understand by throwing a bowl of pumpkin soup still piping hot at me, without any other form of response. Maybe I should have talked a little more, or asked him questions. This failure once again comes from me and it’s infuriating. I blend into sky and ground and I deserve it. I drank the soup and, although I didn't see any suspicious ingredients added to it, it had a terribly bitter aftertaste, so much so that the bitterness coated the walls of my throat for hours. It was very unpleasant.

It's so frustrating not being able to talk to anyone! This paper prison is stifling and I refrain from throwing it into a bonfire. I want to be able to cry out each of my problems, and destroy all those who prevent me from solving them, as the Lamb did. I refuse to submit to such weakness; I am the ancient bishop of war, whose best weapon is limitless knowledge! It is other mortals who should tremble at the sight of me, not me! The world should hear me, listen to me uncompromisingly, and obey me. By what witchcraft did I end up like this?

My mind is much too troubled. I know it's broken into a thousand pieces but I don't know where these pieces are, I don't even know if, once assembled, they will form an image that I will be able to perceive. Do I even want it?
I have a feeling the Lamb has one of these pieces. It is certain that I feel more and more disgust towards him. What should have been a sacrificial beast among many, is now the head of a powerful and devoted cult, and has made himself known beyond the confines of his camp, even having dethroned The One Who Waits. Besides that, what have I done to deserve my name to appear in ancient texts? Chaining the one who was my brother in solitude is not an achievement in my eyes. Shamura, once the bishop of war, claims to be in search of peace. Pathetic, isn't it.

Why do these images run over and over again? It's unbearable. I keep thinking about our united family, then Narinder's rise in pride, then the incident. From there, the pain takes over my head for hours, then when it finally deigns to leave me, this nightmarish loop begins again. I would rip my brain out if I could, as long as it would put an end to this martyrdom.

I wish I could hold Narinder in my arms. I would like to pat his head, whisper to him that everything will be fine, and tell him old legends so that he accepts being tucked in. But Narinder is no longer a child, and if I dare put my hand near him, there is no doubt that he will cut it off. Narinder doesn't want me anymore.

Why was this so painful to write? I thought I had accepted this separation. Maybe in reality I was living in some kind of denial.

Maybe I have to tear my eyes out to understand Leshy.
Maybe I have to cut my own throat to understand Heket.
Maybe I have to tear my ears apart to understand Kallamar.
Maybe I must end my days in the grip of chains and my guilt, to understand Narinder.

Maybe I must take revenge, to understand the Lamb.

Someone very strange joined the cult today. He visited me despite a condition that seemed almost worse than mine.
His name is Sozo, at least I think so since he spoke in the third person (even the way he spoke was strange). Noticing the severity of my injuries, he handed me a handful of mushrooms as intriguing as he was, with an enthusiastic sight. He kept saying that they were wonderful, and that their miraculous effects would have me back on my feet in no time. I didn't even have time to think about eating them; Heket showed up in a fury, and took them all without saying a word to me. These mushrooms undoubtedly have a link with the strangeness of this person.

I wonder if what I find strange is simply an illusion, created by the illness. Wouldn't my view of the world be misled by the consequences of a family tragedy? If that's the case, why aren't my sisters and brothers going through the same thing? That said, in a sense, I guess Leshy is the exception that proves the rule.

Leshy, by the way, is becoming more and more clingy with me. He spends hours tracking me, thinking he is discreet, but the ground rarely moves under its own power. Leshy is very restless, in every sense of the word; he disturbs my rest, the fields, the prayers, and insults the Lamb at every opportunity that presents itself. It's as if he wants to take all the attention given to him, as if he misses his followers. He reproduces what he was famous for: chaos, but this time on his weakened scale. I don't have the heart to tell him that he's lost too much power to impress anyone; Come to think of it, maybe it's just me he wants to impress. It doesn't work in the slightest, and it's sad to see.

Why is he so attached to chaos? He harms his allies, actually, no. We haven't been allies since the incident. Thinking of it, I doubt that anyone from the Old Faith still has allies. We, former bishops, are not even our own allies. As I thought earlier, we are alone with ourselves and no one will want to follow us. We will all burn in purgatory. I suppose in a sense this is how we pay for the crualty of our actions. If I may say so, that's a lot of punishment in my opinion. Especially since Narinder, who mutilated us for power, doesn't seem to suffer any of this.

My head hurts so much today that it feels like I suffered my injuries only yesterday. Kallamar told me that it was normal, that he felt the same thing in his ears, but in reality he doesn't understand anything. No one understands what's going on in my head and it drowns me into rage. I don't just feel like I'm reliving the incident through pain; I have the impression that soup is being cooked in my skull, that skewers are being stuck in it, that a large piece of very thick meat is being grilled. Lamb, if you are as powerful as everyone dares to claim, come and devour the entrails of my head and free me from this misfortune! Only in this way can my war against myself end, if it even has an end. Bishop of War finds themself on the ground, begging for help from the one who defeated the prophecy. An amazing poem that only makes me feel more pathetic. By being this weak, I bring shame to the Old Faith.

I sometimes see Leshy sniffing my corner of our shelter. Maybe I'm wrong, but he seems to be looking for something. I hope this is not my journal, because the time has not yet come to share my thoughts. Come to think of it, it's a funny idea: Leshy can't read. To know the contents of this diary he would have to ask Heket to read it to him, and I don't think she would accept, she seems too troubled at the moment to do anyone any favors. These two annoy me; Leshy searching anything, and Heket thinking she is invincible. How did I come to think this way about my own family? Is it the truth or the disease? Would it have its own will? I get lost searching for what is really mine, and what is not. Maybe I'm just as unbearable to those around me. I don't want to be unbearable. I want to continue weaving, passing on my knowledge to arouse the admiration of my peers. When I told Narinder about my past adventures, he always seemed to take great interest.

So this is the solution to my problem! I have to request an audience with Narinder, so that he cannot run away from dialogue. At that time, I will tell him about the Lamb's journey to the Silk Craddle. If he listens even just to the beginning, then maybe I can finally get an answer out of him. I don't care if this response is hostile or not; I will take it if there is one.

Starting tomorrow, I will tell the Lamb about this plan. I hate to admit it, but it would help me a lot to know the possible flaws in this plan. In reality, I think what annoys me the most is not having the knowledge I need.

I finished weaving my hammock.

Chapter Text

I managed to get the audience I wanted with the Lamb. Very early in the morning, he made me join him in the confessional. Once inside, I smelled a vague smell of warm berries; he had obviously prepared a snack for himself, to take advantage of my plans and questions as well as the latest surrounding gossip. Ignoring this strange behavior, I took my seat and explained everything I planned to tell Narinder. However, apart from the details which had left my memory interspersed with thick mouthfuls of still steaming gruel, the proposition he made to me was surprising.

He told me that at this stage of ascension, predicting the consequences of my actions was impossible but that, nevertheless, one of his close acquaintances could clarify my path. He sent me to look for him: thus, I met Clauneck.

Clauneck is what people call, an oracle. Armed with tarot cards, he presents himself not as a guide, but as a scout: according to him, the cards are the true guides, and we are free to follow them. He had me sit facing the mat where he would draw the cards. I then began to present to him the conflict between me and my former brother, but barely had I given the context than the first card was drawn. Confused, I looked up, waiting for someone to explain to me how my destiny could already be mapped out.

Clauneck is a calmer and more thoughtful person than I expected. He made no judgment of my incomprehension, instead showing surprising goodwill. He presented me with the first card of the draw, the one that had aroused my astonishment: Temperance, symbol of relationships and links with others. This card would mean that my relationship with Narinder, once a pillar of our lives, is today an obstacle to our respective goals, due to the transformation it has undergone without our wanting. Our conversation will decide its outcome: it could resume its splendor, or it could become a purgatory in which this time, at least, we will be together.
I didn't learn much from this card. All it let me know is that my plan will have significant consequences. I then asked Clauneck what would allow me to force destiny to listen to me, to which he responded by drawing the second card.

This card was that of the Chariot, representing personal affirmation. By herself, she encourages me to impose my identity and my existence. Coupled with the previous one, it gains nuance: this identity must allow that of Narinder to exist just as much, so that he asserts himself as much as I do. This will put us on an equal footing, without guaranteeing a pleasant outcome. This last observation was particularly annoying for me, a Clauneck consultant in search of concise answers. I told him about it and, in response, he smiled at me and drew the last card.

I didn't expect to see it, but it was the one of judgment. It is apparently a symbol of rebirth, of renewal. Its meaning would then be very simple: a new era will begin for us, a good era in theory. Clauneck only gave me this vague explanation, he didn't comment on anything else. I assumed he was waiting for my opinion, but I wasn't sure; Temperance for my conflict with Narinder, the Chariot for everyone's affirmation, and Judgment for the consequences it will have on us, however where is the common thread that connects the pages of this funny tale? Thinking about it gave me nothing except a considerable headache.

I wanted to ask Clauneck the question. I wanted to know why these cards are read in this order, and what is this new era that awaits us, who is it good for. However, I never got the answer I wanted: When I looked up, Clauneck was gone.

When the Lamb said Clauneck could help me, I expected something more specific, an instruction or a path that I could follow. Instead, I made the trek back to camp listening to my own questions repeat over and over in my head, just like those horrible images. However, when I reached the entrance to the camp, I found that I had been given an unexpected surprise.

Narinder stood in front of me. He met my gaze with the same deeply annoyed look I always knew. When he saw me questioning the reason for his presence, he turned to leave, finally saying a few words to me:

“It is the Lamb who sent me. Come.”

I didn't try to understand it further. I'm trying too hard to understand everything these days. So I cherished this first real moment of interaction, and I followed him without flinching to the tent of the former bishops.

Neither my sister, nor my brothers, nor the Lamb, nor any follower was present. The shelter was plunged into dead silence, but eventually I got used to Narinder's presence. He sat down, his face frozen, and I did the same, settling into my hammock. He stared at that hammock for several minutes, and I wondered why until a memory from his childhood came back to me.

At the time, it seems to me that he was only around ten years old. Heket and Leshy were not yet born, and Kallamar was often very busy; looking for playmates, Narinder then turned to me. However, I also had a lot of things to do, and I already knew that a bored child can cause a lot of damage. Wishing to avoid this outcome, I then woven some play equipment for him that would allow me to monitor him: a sort of swing, wide enough for him to lie down on. He had so much fun with it that that evening he insisted on sleeping in it, complete with a lantern. During his hours of play and sleep, his face betrayed a deep relaxing.

As I thought about it, I realized that this hammock had reminded him of his swing. Seeing a perfect opportunity, I invited him, with a simple gesture of my arm, to take a seat in it during our exchange. I expected a refusal, for him to stand there in front of me; instead, he settled into the hammock, his face sullen but his posture relaxed. In my opinion, this was the final sign that the way was open to my strategy.

So I began my tale. I told of the thunderous arrival of the Lamb in the Silk Craddle and all that ensued. I recounted the deafening sound of the bullets, the precise edge of the sword, the dizzying crash of the hammer. I was probably leaving out a lot of details, but it didn't matter to me. Without taking a break, I made him listen to every detail of this adventure that my injuries had spared. I waged war against this Lamb without the slightest pity for his pathetic demands, I did everything possible to crush his last glimmer of hope forever, with my many paws.

Unfortunately, I didn't have time to finish my story. Indeed, I was at the part where I took my last breath, when I finally noticed what Narinder was doing: slumped in this makeshift hammock, symbol of a bygone innocence and fossil of family union , he was sleeping soundly. In this unexpected sleep, his usual expression of displeasure was replaced by a much calmer or, dare I say, peaceful expression. I didn't dare wake him from such a sleep, so I find myself writing these lines under the stars. It is very surprising that he occupied this hammock all day, didn't he eat today? or maybe my perception of time is also affected by the illness. Isn't the Sun, in itself, the most beautiful star?

I don't know if my plan was a success or a failure. In all honesty, I don't see any change at the moment. According to Clauneck, this should be a good omen, but the more I think about it, the less credible I find these cards. If the tarot was enough to avoid tragedies, one of the bishops of the Old Faith could have predicted everything that happened to us. And we could have avoided it. And live in peace.

What a stupid observation. We didn't need the tarot to do all of this. What is happening to me? Why is my mind, once again, invaded by such advanced and absurd thoughts? It would be completely insane for my injuries to be the cause of all my other ailments! Kallamar must know what's going on. Kallamar knows, and he's hiding things from me. Narinder knows. The Lamb knows. This pathetic lamb knows everything! He knows everything and he takes pleasure in watching me suffer without doing anything about it! I will tear out every tiny piece of wool that passes under my mandibles if he doesn't tell me the whole truth!

Now the violence begins to consume me, too; I know that normally, it takes a lot more for me to feel this much anger. Maybe it is time for me to stop writing today. Or maybe this is the result of my recent progress with Heket: she is perhaps a bad influence, or an obstacle to my healing. I will try to get away from her tomorrow; It's painful, but I'm starting to get used, little by little, to the pain that this solitude causes. It's nothing compared to the one I trapped Narinder in. If I dare to believe in miracles, perhaps it will even take the place of my wounds.

My hammock doesn't hold up.

Chapter Text

Then I thought I would spending my days avoiding Heket, but now she is the one avoiding me! At least, that is what I think. I haven't run into her once today, not even at the food stores. I haven't been able to do much exploring in search of her, most of the followers sending me off to rest when they realize that no one was accompanying me. It's ridiculous, my injuries are to my skull and not my legs, so I can walk unaided.
Leshy, on the other hand, is nipping at my heels, thinking he's as discreet as ever. I'm going to crush him and have to take responsibility for what I will have done. His little body is useful for digging galleries underground. Maybe I should ask him to teach me? It sounds like fun. I need to figure out why he's following me around before it harms him, but it's exhausting trying to figure everything out, so exhausting. I would like to enjoy a gentle nap under the first rays of the sun. I will invite him to rest under the sun with me.

As for Kallamar, I knew he was not very courageous, but he who was supposed to teach me more signs avoided all conversations. I persevered, in order to find out where Heket had gone, if he knew anything about Leshy, if he had managed to talk to Narinder - and then, when I mentioned the name of his first brother, he had a semblance of audacity. I did not expect it from him, but he almost cut me off, declaring that thinking about it would hurt me more than it would do anything else. He did not want to elaborate, he just insisted on the fact that resurrection is not healing, fiddling with his ear with the hand that was not holding a large bouquet of camellias. Thinking can't hurt me, can it? I asked him the question, but no answer, yet again. What are they all doing, wanting to plunge me into silence? Could my search for an answer be the source of a second misfortune? Unless this misfortune ready to cut off their heads, was me?

My diary had a stain today. A sticky circle with a streaky pattern has been placed on the corner of the cover. This mark is not mine; it could be that someone decided to spy on me. Or maybe I'm imagining things. Or maybe someone wanted to put it away. Or maybe a follower wanted to pry too far. Or maybe the Lamb is going to kill me again. Or maybe I'm imagining things. I'm imagining things. No one is spying on me. I'm imagining things.

I ran into Narinder, during my exploration. He was still in the kitchens, busy serving the mortals he barely tolerates. I wasn't hungry. I don't know why my steps led me to the kitchens. I doubt he's the one spying on me. Yet, I was in the kitchens. I stood in line, feeling the confused looks of the followers around me; is it so surprising that no one followed me around ?
Then it was my turn. I said hello to Narinder. Like the first time, he had a moment of doubt, but this time I didn't feel any animosity from him. Instead, I experienced something strange.
He said hello to me. He looked at me, not in the eyes, but he looked at me, and he said "Hello, Shamura". He looked at me. My brother looked at me. I felt something running down my face, which I quickly wiped away; I don't want the younger ones to see blood running from my wounds. Yet my fingers weren't covered in red. Strange. It's so strange. Why do I have pain in muscles and organs that no one has touched?

Exhaustion has caught up with me. I couldn't do anything else today. So here I am at the tent, weaving again and again, hoping to get something that will bring us a little joy. I try to strengthen my hammock, and even if it's not enough as a bed, to weave pretty patterns in it. I think less when I work on my hammock, my headaches hurt less. Could art have therapeutic virtues? I'm going to talk to Kallamar about it. He'll soon see how my recovery is going.

I see it more and more. Either writing is futile, or it brings me bad luck. I can only see these explanations to justify such a concentration of strangeness in such a calm period. My family avoids me, my silk is no longer enough to make a decent fabric, one moment. My family avoids me? The last time they all tried to flee a common danger, it was

My wounds are bleeding again. I know it. I wiped away the drip again, this time it was red, it can only be blood. Can you paint with blood? Can I give artistic meaning to my torments? Some stories describe grotesque deaths. Kallamar came home shortly after, and he rushed to change my bandages when he saw the blood flowing. While he was busy with the task, I asked him the same questions, and he continued to avoid the subject. I know that Narinder has hurt us all a lot, but in my opinion this is the heart of the matter: will we really be able to heal without him? Once again Kallamar showed an audacity that I thought he would never know: he answered me curtly that he did not know, and that I should think first of all about "plugging my skull back together". After that, he didn't dare look at me anymore, or justify himself on anything. He seemed seized with an unprecedented shame. Oh Kallamar, I thought I had taught you to pretend not to doubt anything. Yet, you never managed to betray my gaze. If only they were all like you, in that matter. Despite all this, I imagine that it was you who tried to watch over the others, in my absence. I have so much pride for all of you. Do you perceive it?

Heket eventually came back in too, but she didn't speak a word to me. As soon as she was inside, she threw a bowl of leftover food on the ground without looking at us, and threw herself on her bed. Kallamar wanted to check on her, but Heket simply invited her to go "gobble up some flies". I wanted to take a look at her bowl, she who usually would eat enough for two in a day. There were the remains of a copious meal based on vegetables, I could even make out pieces of cabbage and beetroot that she hadn't touched. Was she depriving herself of food these days? I wanted to bring the bowl closer to her bed so that she could finish it later but Kallamar stopped me. It is true that I had planned to avoid her, I must not let myself go, for the good of all. I did not want to fight. I ate the leftovers.

Leshy came home last. He didn't say a word to me either, but coming from him, it's more surprising. Is he tired from playing in the dirt all day? I have already told him that exercising before bed is bad for his sleep. At least that's what I thought, because he rolled around in the few flowers at the bottom of his bed, wiping the dirt from the surface of his body, before going to sleep too.

They all ended up sleeping while I watched them. They seemed free of any problems, soothed by the passage of the sandman who had tucked them in. I couldn't resist my curiosity and approached Heket. In her sleep, she had clutched her sheets as if she were in danger of falling. Her large, sticky fingers had tightened more than I thought possible. I slowly ran my hand over her head, as I had done when we first met. I did it as gently as I could muster. Everything will be fine, sister. Such a short fall won't hurt you.

There was no one to reassure me as I did, so I dared to do something that might earn me a lecture from Kallamar. I take advantage of this journal to confide it, a secret going from my thought to my being, so that no one will have to bear the weight of it.

I tried to go out for a night walk. My path did not stray far from the tent, this escapade was short. I was content to sit or lie down in the grass to bathe in the light of the moon. It is so beautiful that I write these lines under its pleasant glow. I have a feeling of déjà vu, but I don't care. This moment is so peaceful, it is perhaps a form of solitude that I can tolerate. This one brings me the comfort and the fullness that I need. I don't have to decipher the moon to spend time with it.
The time will come when I should go back to my bed, but it is not the present moment, because here, I give myself over to my own thoughts. I understand the followers who sleep under the stars. I could well let this appeasement tuck me in, if only my head did not throbbed again and again. Have my wounds opened again? The moon is so beautiful. Its glow soothes me with a gentle caress.
I peeked inside, and it seems that Leshy took advantage of my absence to sneak into my hammock. I hope for his sake that he doesn't give in in his sleep. The ground must be more comfortable than outside, though.

Tomorrow, I will go see the Lamb again in the confessional. I have things to explain to him. Maybe he is enjoying the moon right now, too. I hope he is accompanied by Narinder. We could admire the moon together, the two of us, one evening.

My hammock is taking a strange shape.

Chapter Text

I had to go see the Lamb in person this time to get my audience in the confessional. I know that one can go there freely, but I wanted to make sure of his presence. I was starting to boil just imagining him preparing himself a snack like the last time. Let him dare to make fun of me again. This time, everyone must take me seriously, or I will fail once again. Let him dare to make fun of me again, I will give him a taste of what purgatory has inflicted on us.

My guts were outside my abdomen. It was very strange. Yet it did not hurt. In any way, I did not realize it. Something was hanging from my abdomen. My head hurt. So much. So much. My guts were outside my abdomen.

Did they suffer the same thing? All this because I failed to present myself to the sacrificial beast before the others? Actuallu, we were the sacrifice all along. Oh Heket, is that why you shed so many tears when we were reunited? I have so many regrets, my sister. So many regrets that stain my pride for you. I will not let anything sully it again.

I transmitted the rage of my brothers and sister to the Lamb. I spoke of Kallamar, and his paralyzing cowardice. I spoke of Heket, and her isolating hatred. I spoke of Leshy, who had a strange tendency to follow me around like when he was a child. In fact, they all behave a bit like they did when they were very young. Yet they still seek to protect me, like a fragile crystal that would shatter at the slightest fall. They weighed so lightly in the hollow of my arms, at that time. So small and so light. They could almost have slipped through my fingers. Maybe it is selfish, but I would like to rock them to bed, each one, just one last time.

I have not forgotten Narinder.

Narinder is intriguing and unpredictable. Narinder seems to hate me, yet he spoke to me. He hates me but he came to spend time with me. He stayed in my presence the whole time. I remember it. It is painful, but I remember it very clearly. I remember that he came to me, at the request of the Lamb, and that we tried to converse, in vain however. I remember his look when he discovered my creation, my hammock. Above all, I remember the calm that is rare for him, affixed to his face, when he fell asleep there.

Except the Lamb cut me.
He cut me, to correct me; Narinder did not come because of him.
He came of his own free will.

He consulted the Lamb, told him he wanted “revenge for his years in chains,” and the Lamb offered himself as an excuse, without seeking to know more, to come see me. According to him, it was impossible for Narinder to really unleash himself on me; why would he risk enforced solitude again?

How foolhardy. I told him. How foolhardy to trust your instincts. Instincts can fail. What if he had tried to break me again? The Lamb should have stayed close by to watch over; and I know he wasn’t there, I would have seen him. I would have seen him, right? Was he there, lurking in the shadows to watch us, without me seeing anything? He assured me that he wasn’t, because I quote: “Heket is enough of a  bodyguard.” But Heket’s throat has not yet healed, and today we avoid crossing paths. How imprudent. How naive!

I was about to leave because I felt my headaches seizing me again, but once again the Lamb interrupted my momentum. Does he think that his word is worth more than mine? Imbecile !

He asked me a question that will have had, at least, the merit of filling the holes in my strategy.

He said to me "Shamura, you told me what your family wanted. What do you want? What are your desires, Shamura?"

My desires? It is true that of all the questions that have been running through my head since my resurrection, this one has not crossed my mind. I have always prioritized my younger siblings, thinking that it would protect them from everything. I was wrong. I was wrong, about so many things.
I do not know what I want.
I have ignored my desires, and that is perhaps what led to our downfall. However, if I listen to my desires, will I not plunge us into something even worse? I was not able to ask this question to the Lamb, who simply announced to me that our audience was ending.

I hate him.

I hate him so much.

I should have killed him.

Ignorance. I already killed him. That is how he met Narinder.

Narinder.

Would I have killed you if I had listened to my desires?

I have monstrous thoughts

my own brother

my brother, whom I love

forgive me

forgive me dear brother

forgive me all of you

I must reconcile with Heket. I absolutely must go see Heket. I am writing these lines before going to meet her. My so little sister, who could be held in my arms just a few years ago. I command you, let me hold you in my arms again. This time, it is a decision I make on my own. This time, I refuse to let go of you. I will heal my wounds as well as yours, let the rest rot in purgatory if necessary! You will no longer need to pound your fist to protect what you care about, because I will do it myself.

I must learn to measure this rage, this hatred. She knows them well. She knows how to take control of them, not to diminish them but to make those who provoked them pay the price. I will ask her to teach me her art. I educated her, I taught her many things. It is time for us to reverse roles.

This distance that we have forced between us ends today. We made the wrong decision. Fear not, sister, we can change that. I will take care of it.

I must acknowledge that the Lamb has helped me. Now I know what to do, and I know that I will not fail again. However, I have no gratitude towards him. I do not care what becomes of him. I simply desire peace.

How are the kittens? The ones I gave to Narinder. I suppose they have grown up well, that is part of the order of things for them. I have not seen them since my resurrection. They could be of great help. However, that will have to wait; I can only focus on one step of my plan, starting with Heket.

My head hurts so much. Yet, for the first time ever, I do not care. I took the time to think about everything that makes Heket, my sister Heket.

She is violent, the most violent of the five of us, normally.

She is very often hungry. She sometimes eats eight meals a day.

She likes to exert herself. Maybe that is why she is always so hungry.

She likes to share her meals with other people.

She likes to party. For example, she has organized several tea parties, and other times large group meals. She always made sure to invite me.

She cries very little.

and when she cries, she does it alone, only alone

except on the day of my resurrection, I think.

Maybe she was feeling alone.

Bishop of Knowledge and War. I will wage this war against our broken bonds, and I will win it through my knowledge.
I have lost my title. Not my strength.

I finally understand why Kallamar insisted that I keep a diary. It was so that I could record my own thoughts. I have proof that they existed. It is ingenious. I finally find a use for all those hours of writing. I have wasted neither paper nor ink. Thank you, Kallamar.

They should all keep diaries. That way, we would all have clearer thoughts. Perhaps writing could even allow us to bond back with each other. As for Leshy, we will be resourceful. I will write him a beautiful story, to read at night to tuck him in. It was his favorite time of day, when he was very young.

I loved those times, too.

I want to love them again.

I want to love again.

Without fearing that everything will be destroyed.

I want to love again.

I want to love.

I want to love.

My hammock is stronger.

Chapter Text

Heket did not seem to want to talk to me. She wanted to run away from me like one would run away from the plague her brother once spread. Except that the war was far from over, so I continued to follow her, again and again, relentlessly. I refused to let go of her, if I could get a single word from her. Some followers tried to stop me, but I didn’t let anyone lay a hand on me. I do not care about fighting to the point of exhaustion, if that is my fight. My legs are sometimes too light to hold up the rest of my body. No matter.

So I had to hunt her down, from last night until today. How could I have treated my own sister like prey? She’s so vulnerable. Maybe I should have planned a trap. No, trapping your own family is wrong, very wrong. My sister is no prey. My sister is strong. Very strong. My so little sister.

I finally cornered her. She had isolated herself in our shelter for lunch. When I caught sight of her, she was sitting on her bed, staring into space, a bowl in her hands. The contents looked cold. However, it was full to the brim.
It only lasted a moment because Heket quickly set eyes on me. She stood up to flee once more, but I blocked her path with my arms outstretched; this way, she had no access to the exit. We had to confront each other no matter what.

I thought that if I formed a physical barrier, she wouldn’t dare to pass.
She wouldn’t dare to pass. She’s my sister. Unlike Narinder, she wouldn’t hurt me. Right?
She is my sister, she wouldn’t hurt me, right?
She is my sister, she wouldn’t hurt me, right?
She is my sister, she wouldn’t hurt me, right?
i am scared
She is my sister, she wouldn’t hurt me, right?

She found herself in front of me. She looked me straight in the eye. For a few moments, only, as if doing so any longer would be dangerous. Then she looked down and her hands started shaking. She was trying to speak, I could hear her. It’s a hard task for her, following her injury, so I picked up her bowl and put it on a stable surface, then tried to lean over to better understand her words. Finally, I could make them out.

“Shamura, I did something bad,” she said.
“Shamura, I’m sorry,” she said.
“Shamura, I don’t want to be bad,” she said.

I didn’t understand. I would forgive her no matter what, but I had no idea what “bad thing” she could have done. I listened to her. I wanted to sit on the floor with her, but in the end she is the one who helped me get down. I was a little ashamed, but she seemed to feel infinitely more ashamed at that moment, so I didn’t say anything.

She didn’t elaborate right away, she just kept repeating those few words over and over, as if it were a spell that protected her from any possible consequences. No, sister, you are not bad. Children like to have their heads stroked to reassure them; so, thinking that would help her, I put a hand on her head. From that moment on, not a sound came out of her mouth and she was as if paralyzed. I tried to stroke her, as I had done while she was sleeping. After what seemed like an interminable moment, she placed a hand on mine and tears, discreet but very real, began to flow.

The sticky circle, adorned with streaks. It was her.
Heket read my diary.
There was no spy.
Someone was watching me.
Heket read my diary.

All these grotesque ideas that keep me down, frail, helpless, Heket has read them.
All the moments of pain and suffering recorded on these sheets since my resurrection, Heket has read them. Heket has read everything, from beginning to end. She was looking for a way to heal me, she said. She didn’t want to watch me agonize anymore, she said. So to attack the evil at the root she wanted to better understand how I was hurting, and she opened my journal in search of answers.

She is now convinced that if we are all suffering today, it is entirely her fault. She is convinced that if we live with physical consequences of the past, it is because she did not manage the situation as she should have. But also and above all, she thinks that if we have all suffered purgatory, it is because she was too weak, and too stupid. Just explaining everything to me hurt her horribly, but she wanted to tell me like this and not with signs. She has always been an angry type, and after the incident she was angry with the whole world; I believe that today, the first person she directs this anger at is herself.

Perhaps you will read these words, even if you promised never to do it again.
You are far from weak.
You are very strong and none of this is your fault.
Far from it, you were able to repel the threat long enough. You had a good strategy. The rest was not up to you.
You are so strong, Heket.
So strong.

Leshy had figured out her plan and offered to help her. That’s why he followed me around so often; he was just trying to find out more. Unfortunately, all he could bring her back were lumps of dirt. As long as he doesn’t make strange “potions” with rainwater and nature’s waste, I don’t really mind.

I found something that could help her calm down, so I tried it. I made her straighten her posture, took the bowl back, and offered to feed her, like back then. At first, she was reluctant, but not to the point of refusing. The hand I had placed on her head, I finally put on her back, and she finally accepted.
So, one bite at a time, I fed her. We shared this meal, at her pace. She accepted with difficulty, as if she were preventing herself from receiving the nutrition that was rightfully hers. However, she ate, as she had always known how to do, and her body eventually accepted on its own, judging by the monstrous noise her stomach made.
When she was little, she had a lot of nightmares my stomach was open. So I would stroke her back until she fell asleep again. My presence reassured her and allowed her to face her fear. Here, I did the same thing to allow her to eat. Knowledge is being stronger than famine. I tended to tell her, when she was still young and naive, that it is possible to cure all the ills of the being with a lot of love for that person. I was lacking in precision. I cannot feed her with love.
However, she seemed satisfied. She finished her bowl. Well done, Heket.

And then she did like the day I was resurrected. She dropped her head on my shoulder and finally let real tears flow, lots of tears, as if to make up for all the other times she had to hide to do so.
I think this is actually the first time she has cried so much in my presence. Is it a blessing or a curse? She was crying but she seemed relieved. It relieved me too. She should cry more often.

We heard cries that were not ours, so we turned our heads. It turns out that Kallamar was also playing spy, but much less well and for other reasons. He came to bring me a cane, heard us talking and did not dare to enter the shelter. So he stayed, and heard a lot of what happened.
These two really needed a hug. That is the advantage of having many arms.

I don’t understand why Kallamar made me a cane. I told them I had no problem walking! I do not want anyone to help me! In response to my protests, he said that fatigue could weaken my legs and that a cane would be very useful in these situations. This tool is supposed to give me more stability. I am not going to depend on a piece of wood to move around!

I tried, to please him. I walked a few steps, with the cane, as elegant as the followers who “get wasted” in the evening. I almost fell. My arm trembles when I hold the cane and my legs seem, contrary to usual, heavier. It seems to me that, if my final defeat against the Lamb is my greatest shame, this moment of pure disgrace holds second place without a doubt. I feel so weak and fragile, when I try to move with this thing. I hate feeling weak and fragile.
Kallamar tried to guide me in using this cane but honestly, I could do without it. I don’t need help. I never have. I don’t need help.
However, this brings up the second part of my initial problem.

I now realize that, except for my treatment, I have no closeness to Kallamar. I refuse to let my health condition be our only link, it is completely absurd. Links are not defined by evil! The only links that can exist through evil are those that lead to resentment and misfortune for all! Five becomes one becomes nothing, why does no one learn the lesson?! Why does no one else fight?!

I will break it. I will break this cane and no one will force me to use it! I am not the being who must be adorned with chains!

Unless I have made a mistake

have I made a mistake?

of course, otherwise we would be happy

we would stop being afraid

i am afraid

My hammock is shaking.

Chapter Text

Maybe all along, there was a crucial element missing from my search for answers. Maybe all along, that element was love. Love was missing from the intention of my approach. I made the decision to check this possibility today.
This time, there was no time to waste. I had to prove the truth of this theory as soon as possible. With the Lamb’s permission, and a necklace that was supposed to protect me, I decided to pay a visit to Clauneck, the seer, yet again.

Of course, I left the cane behind. I have no intention of keeping it, so I didn’t bring it, that would have been very strange and contradictory. In any case, I do not feel as tired as Kallamar claimed; I only had to lean against the trees from time to time if I was in pain, and it hurt much less than usual. So I was right, and I have no need for this thing. I will throw it into the next bonfire.
It took me a while to find Clauneck, since he was hiding in the depths of DarkWood. I must admit that, at least, the fresh air of this walk did me some good. When he realized I was there, the oracle laughed heartily, as if he expected to run into me again today, and motioned for me to sit down in front of him as I had when we first met.

I noticed the decoration of his lair, which I had, oddly enough, paid no attention to the previous time. The choice of colors is soothing, tones dark yet vibrant at the same time, and several decorations hanging from branches represent stars or crescent moons. The lights, although small, shine just enough to see, like fireflies. They are not real fireflies, but incense sticks that diffuse a pleasant, almost dreamlike scent. The atmosphere is as if one was looking at the sky on a summer evening, by the fire, after having eaten lots of soup and gruel. Can you read destiny in the stars, with precision and certainty? If that were the case, I would have looked up many years ago. The stars are so beautiful!

Unfortunately, I did not have time to admire them; I had sought out Clauneck for a specific purpose. After asking how he was, I politely explained my theory to him: could love be the missing piece of the story told by the previous cards?

And I received, once again, a terribly annoying answer.

"Oh, my dear friend, I'm afraid you won't find that in the cards."

He did not even touch them. He just answered me like that, without losing his smile. How can he know that my answer is not in the cards if he doesn't even consult them?! Why doesn't anyone listen to me?!
He told me that the said "missing pieces", the elements that are supposed to form the key to a search or the clarification of a doubt, can only and solely be found by the entity that is looking for them. In his position, Clauneck could therefore not offer me anything satisfactory, even with a draw. Although he apologized, my disappointment was not the least; and as if that was not enough, we were joined.

It so happened that Kallamar had noticed that I had not brought my cane, and had the audacity—who would have believed this from him —to try to bring it back to me. He stood in front of me, cane in hand. I could see him holding it tightly, and holding it out to me as if he hoped I would accept it willingly. Realizing that I had taken my eyes off Clauneck, I wanted to turn to him again, but of course he had fled. My chance to confirm my theory had slipped through my fingers.

I wanted to blame Kallamar. I wanted to blame him for the interruption, I wanted to blame him for his initiative, then I realized that, actually, I was going to blame him for my own failure. I don’t want to become a monster. I don’t want to hurt my little brother. How dare he? I did not want that cane! Is he thinking about my health?
He suddenly took me in his arms. I don’t know why but he stroked my back and arms, carefully avoiding getting near my head. He kept telling me that none of us were bad, that he was not angry, that no one was. He told me to count what I saw, what I felt or touched, it was very strange. He wanted to check my breathing. I was breathing correctly. At least I think so. At least I thought so. I think so.

I gave in, once again. I used that idiotic cane all the way back, under a watchful eye. It finally got the better of me; my legs, for some reason unknown to me, were infinitely heavier than usual, in addition to shaking abnormally. So the cane had served its intended purpose. I feel so weak. How can I explain this frustration to Kallamar without worrying him more? What about Leshy, and Heket?
No, I have to think of myself. I know how to reassure them. I will if I have to. It is time I worry about my own self first. That was my mistake. I have to remember. I have to remember.

I remember that on the way back, I put a hand on Kallamar’s head. At least, I wanted to. I don’t know why. I forgot. I did it. However, as soon as he felt my touch, he pushed my hand away with the back of his arm. And then he just apologized. Nothing more, no words or gestures. Maybe he is mad at me for refusing his cane, and for wanting to go out without it. I tried a second time but his reaction was the same, although he seemed to panic for a moment. He’s mad at me. Is he resentful of me? He’s mad at me. He’s mad at me.

When we got back to camp, the Lamb was waiting for us, along with my sister. She was teaching him signs, I think. What a brilliant method of communication! It is a good thing there is little adversity between these two, I have to say I expected the opposite. In any case, their moment of complicity didn’t last long, since when Heket saw me, she almost threw herself on me. I think she is starting to get used to hugs during her moments of worry. Was she worried about me? Everything is fine, my sister.

Kallamar insisted on taking me back to the healing bay before I could even think about going home. Of course, I had to do the walk with my cane; the more I hold it, the more I want to break it. At least I was able to put it down as soon as we arrived, because Kallamar had installed something new: a hammock. It was a little crooked, sewn without respecting the straight grain, and made of a slightly rough fabric, but it was indeed a hammock intended for resting in. It was, according to my brother, an idea of ​​our sister to please the little ones who were being treated. I had to sit there, while Kallamar examined my legs, as if I could have hurt myself outside. I don't understand why he spends so much time monitoring the consequences of every action, even those that are not his. He worries far too much.

My legs were fine, but apparently I might experience severe waves of fatigue in the future, which will affect my legs first. The waves will become weaker and weaker over time. My headaches, on the other hand, need to be examined in more detail to predict their frequency and intensity. Kallamar categorically refuses to let me exercise until then, even a simple walk.
Now I am getting weaker.
It is unbearable.
It is unbearable.
It is unbearable
I do not want to be weak
I do not want to be weak!

So, Heket was afraid of being weak, at least I think. In any case, that is the most valid reason I can find to explain the distance we put between each of us for some time. I understand her now.

Speaking of her, Heket came to see me. She had her arms full of still steaming dishes; there were three of them, and she distributed them to us. Kallamar seemed happy to take a break, but my attention was mostly on our sister, who then sat down next to me, silently waiting for me to start eating. I don’t know why she was waiting for me. My stomach suddenly gurgled, a slight but noticeable sound, enough to make her laugh. I took the opportunity, and I started eating, slowly but surely; as I expected, Heket followed suit, and we finally shared this vegetable medley together.

It was soothing.

Maybe this is what it means to love without fear. At least, I hope so.

I do not want to be weak.
Is this fear?

I fear loving Narinder like the brother he once was.

A strange follower tried to bother us. How dare he at a time like this? He had his arms full of mushrooms, and started to offer us some. However, Kallamar snatched everything from his arms before throwing him out.
He reminded me of something, but I couldn't remember his face or any name. So I reread my diary, hoping to find a trace of a previous encounter. I think his name is Sozo and that these mushrooms are an integral part of his reputation, something Kallamar claims to tolerate only because the mushrooms are used to prepare anesthetics.
Besides, he saw me leafing through my diary. And after that, he turned around very quickly, and he started to cry. I think he doesn't know how lacking in discretion he is when this happens to him.

For once, Heket did not make fun of him.
Besides, for once, Heket was calm. Really calm. Not a forced calm for the good of all, although she struggles to maintain it sometimes. A real calm, which she could also enjoy. I like this calm.
I enjoy it too.

I think my theory was right.
Despite this, I am far from naive: love will not be enough to fix everything. My head still hurts, and it is still just as unpleasant. I want to crush this pain forever.
I have already crushed some of it.
I will crush all the rest.

Nothing becomes one.

Chapter Text

I may have discovered a way to solve two problems at once: my broken bond with Kallamar, and the use of this unbearable cane. He has always had a very strong interest in medicine and all sorts of diseases and infections, even outside of his divine rank and before finding his crown; thus, I could become an experimental subject for him, a subject that he can analyze and treat at will, allowing him to occupy his mind without even realizing it while I intend to take advantage of it to eliminate my headaches no matter what.

So today, I prepared everything to implement this strategy. I made no escapades outside the camp, I did not approach the Lamb, and I dragged the cane with me at every move. How I languish to burn it!
I took advantage of this day to better observe the things around me. The pains that had gripped me every day since my resurrection forced me to wait until night to admire the surroundings, but they are now more discreet, although more insidious. Running away from them will not work. I see that the crops are growing better and faster, and the ground is clean. I could not have borne walking in the slightest excrement, so I hope things stay this way for a long time to come.

I came across two faces that seemed familiar to me today. Two black cats, looking rather young, despite the very large scar that crossed the face of one of them. They seemed particularly uncomfortable in my presence, as if they were about to flee at any moment. However, the one dressed in a light tunic insisted on greeting me, asking how I was, introducing himself to me, and I understood then that I already knew them: they were the kittens that I gave to Narinder many years ago. They were the ones who kept him company during his captivity. This discomfort that seized their faces in my presence was probably present because they remembered me, if only vaguely, or perhaps Narinder told them about me.
Aym and Baal, two kittens torn from their mother, who have become two big, robust men. My brother will have, at the very least, raised them well. Their mother. I owe their mother an apology. I owe their mother an apology. She must hate me. I owe their mother an apology.

I thought about asking them for help, but they were in a hurry; they left the camp for several days, telling me they were visiting their mother. Tearing them away from her a second time would make me even more of a monster, so I didn’t push it. Is it cowardice, kindness, or even common sense? I feel unable to tell the difference. I should. Kindness has never existed on a battlefield. It has never had a place there. There is only pain and defeat, sometimes victory for the most strategic. There are only the strongest. There are no patron deities, only those who battle for the thrive of victory. I won. I won, didn’t I? Victory is supposed to be sweet, to feel good. Why is mine so painful? My hands hurt. My blood hurts. The blood on my hands hurt.

Today I thought about decorating my cane. If I have to keep it until my problem is solved, I would like to give it at least an aesthetic side. In addition, Kallamar's research has apparently found therapeutic virtues in art; thus, I could strike two birds with one stone. However, there is a problem: for this to work, I have to find some decoration to my taste, and I have no idea what kind of art would please me. So I thought about it. The more I think about it, the more it hurts, but it had to be done, so I thought about it. I thought about the Silk Craddle. Our decorations and buildings of all kinds are made largely of bones and webs. People will find it creepy. People will find it dark. I can't, no, I can not take bones.

I have a memory. It is not painful. I have a memory of the Lamb. It is dark and we are talking. The red crown is not a threat, no, it is no longer a threat. I do not see the Lamb, yet I hear him. In fact, no, I do not hear him at present, because this voice does not come from outside but from within. His voice is very calm. A sweet smell of berries emanates. The Lamb listens to me, then asks me, with resounding tranquility, what are my desires.
What are my desires.
What are my desires?

I checked my journal. It was not an illusion due to my injuries or the likes of my imagination: this moment was very real and I have listed it between these pages. I had a meeting with the Lamb, in the confessional. It was here that he suggested that I find my own desires.
Following this logic, I should therefore decorate my cane not according to what will please followers, but only and solely according to my tastes. I must therefore find these tastes as soon as possible.

I cannot use bones to decorate my cane. They would weigh it down. One of the rare properties of this cane is its lightness coupled with its resistance. Are crystals heavy? I could encrust crystals. Maybe engrave stars on it. Why stars? I think I am trying to make my cane shine. No, that is not it. I want something simple. The stars of the sky. This beautiful night sky. The stars and the moon. I have also mentioned this in my journal, several times. Maybe I love the stars and the moon. I want to represent, on my cane, the stars and the moon that soothe me. Maybe I could, if my hands did not shake so much, trace on my cane the most beautiful constellation. I love the stars and the moon. I do not have to decipher the moon to spend time with it.

Clauneck knows the stars and the moon. I remember. I remember too. Clauneck’s lair was decorated with wooden figures attached to trees representing the stars and the moon. A pleasant smell floated there. Can I perfume my cane? No, I don’t want to. I prefer to smell, from time to time, the delicate scent of a still steaming cup of tea. I think I like tea, yes, I like tea, I would like a cup of hot tea to accompany a nighttime writing session.

So far, headaches have never interrupted my sleep.

I have never taken the time to study my sleep since my resurrection. Maybe I should have, actually. In any case, I have never taken the time to study my sleep since my resurrection. I don’t feel like I am sleeping badly, in any case I am sleeping, and my body seems satisfied with this sleep. In the morning when I wake up, I benefit from several minutes of respite before my pains seize me again. I no longer consider it useful to record them in this journal.
This journal has proven to be much more useful than I thought, recently. The knowledge I record in it can be consulted at any time, thus countering possible disabling memory loss. I believe that this was precisely Kallamar’s plan. What a brilliant idea! This strategy is incapable of harming me, so I will continue to follow it. Could I engrave my knowledge on the cane? No, there is not enough space. I could only engrave runes on it, at most.

Symbols. What if I engraved smbols on it? What to engrave? What message to convey? i am in pain All things considered, engraving symbols would be far too complex a task. If I find the message I want to engrave on this cane, I will reconsider my position. I have a desire. I want the decoration of my cane to be simple and coherent, although loaded with meaning, a meaning that I will understand without effort. A restful meaning, in very few words. I want to rest. I want to rest. Where is my hammock?

Our shelter. My hammock is in our shelter. I no longer write in the shelter. Heket has read my journal. She promised not to do so again, and I believe her, but I cannot say the same for Kallamar. He will not be honest. If he pokes into my head, he will never admit to such an affront, except under threat of a greater force. I refuse to threaten him. I refuse to let Narinder threaten him. I refuse to call upon the Lamb. I refuse to let Narinder near my brother. Therefore, I now write outside. I am leaning against the small fountain not far from our shelter, the sound of the water soothing, drowning out the sound of the Lamb's followers, the drunks, and my own tumultuous thoughts. I think I am enjoying this ritual. I want to see my hammock. When I have finished writing my thoughts of the day, I will go to my hammock, and rest there. I will lie down there, close all my eyes, and think of nothing but what I love.
I want to think of what I love.
I want to think of what I love

I will make a second hammock for Kallamar. No, I will teach him to sew. There is a hammock at the healing center. I will teach him to sew so that he can make a better one. We could decorate it. The best way to decorate a fabric without weighing it down too much is to embroider details. I could embroider with him. The last time I embroidered was many years ago. I must try this hobby again, before I can pretend to be able to teach Kallamar things. I do not have any embroidery materials in my possession. I will ask the Lamb if he has any. I wonder if there are people in this camp who can embroider. Maybe they themselves have things to teach me. I think I like learning things.

Blood stains very easily. That is why no war suit is white; no one in their right mind wears white to an event where one can easily get dirty. On the other hand, it is for the same reason that bandages are most often white; blood stains are very quickly visible, thus allowing one to know to what extent the said bandage is worn. Blood can stain other things than fabric. Blood can stain floors. Blood can stain skin. Blood can stain wood. Blood can stain paper. Blood can stain my cane. What a macabre decoration that would be. Blood stains skin. Do I have skin? My hands are covered in smelly stains, I don't want them anymore, I never wanted them!
Maybe I deserve to live with these stains, for the rest of my existence itself covered in putrid stains.

Blood can be cleaned. There are specific cleaning products, as well as very effective concoctions to remove stains from certain fabrics. Kallamar probably knows some. Yes, that's it, I found a way to approach him without arousing his suspicions! Starting tomorrow, I will go to see him at the medical ward, and I will ask him to erase these vile stains. If there is a way, he will use it, and if there is no such product, then I will fight in another way. Oh dear brother, you will have the courage to share your knowledge just once, won't you?

I am starting to get scared. Fear indicates danger. And yet I am not in danger. I am not in danger. I am not in danger, am I? Kallamar is powerful. Kallamar is dangerous. No, he is not dangerous. I'm weak. He'll take advantage of it. No, he would not do that. He would run away at the slightest danger. He only takes out his weapons when he has nowhere else to run. I have to corner him. No, on the contrary, he might want to fight if I corner him. I must not appear a threat. I will dress myself in all the discretion and sympathy in the world, so he won't be suspicious of anything, and he won't try to break me. I won't be fooled, not a second time.

I have my brother's blood on my hands
my brother, whom I love

There is something else I must plan for. If Kallamar cannot wash away the blood I have shed, then I will find another way. On the other hand, what if he refuses to help me despite everything? What if he refuses to come back to my side? There is no proof that everything will go as well as it did with my sister. However, I do not know where to look for this proof, and now fatigue is gripping me again. I cannot think about it any longer today, perhaps it is time for me to rest. I hate more than anything to have to put myself at chance, but if I have to wage war with him too, I will win no matter what.

My cane trembles under my weight.

Chapter Text

I must admit that I lost the bet I made half-explicitly with Kallamar when he gave me my cane; I tried to do my work without it today, and now my legs are sore all the way down to my toes. If the pain persists by tomorrow, I would like to have them massaged, perhaps with an ointment. That said, the most likely reason for this pain is that I have been walking all day, so anyone would find themselves in such a state, even without having their mobility affected beforehand. No, in fact, I have not lost anything, I have not lost anything, I am not that weak, I do not admit it. I have not lost!
I will then write down here everything I have done today, in case I forget it in the meantime. I sincerely hope I do not forget any detail. This diary must be useful to me. This diary must be used day after day to serve me! This diary must prove its devotion to me!

First of all I organized my plan for the day. To me, everything was very clear and each blow had to be delivered with precision. I wove my strategy into a perfectly straight and smooth web, one of my most beautiful works. I intended to control my day detail by detail, and kill two birds with one stone by leaving my cane in my hammock. Oddly enough, during this planning, I felt no pain in my head, perhaps because concentration allows me to chase away these horrible and tumultuous thoughts.

My first escapade, if only I can call it that, was a breakfast. Hunger was likely to distract me, so I figured eating before I felt it would help me carry on. So I ambushed my needs. I walked to the kitchen, no real pain and staying pretty steady the whole way, under the gaze of curious followers; is it really any wonder I am walking around ? They annoy me. It is distracting. I want no distractions. If I catch one spying on me while I write, they will feel my fist. In the kitchen, I had only a bowl of gruel, and insisted on sitting alone by a tree to enjoy the first rays of sunlight. I think I love them almost as much as I love the moon. I want to enjoy the things I love. I like to eat a very simple meal with only the weather as a distraction. There is nothing like starting a hard day of work by eating your first meal without any constraints. I was in the best possible state to continue to act on my plan.

My second stop traced a path to the tailor. This is where the Lamb stores his fabrics, his tools, as well as his creations that have not found an owner for the moment. I intended to take some fabric there to teach Kallamar sewing but there was no one to allow me to take it, so I had to be content with the choice of this fabric. It needed something simple, familiar, slightly elastic without giving way under the weight of a person or a similar load. I chose cotton. If I add a lining to it, it will be strong and comfortable enough to take a good nap in. I should set up a hammock outside, near the fountain. The sound of the water is soothing enough to fall asleep to the melody it composes, the air is purer there, there are few structures around. The moon is more visible there than elsewhere. The moon is a beautiful, large lamp, high enough in the sky to shine only very softly while accompanying the night adventurers with its soft glow. I digress wake up wake up

wake up
the moon is so beautiful

and yet it is daytime is it not?

I had to wait after that. Wait for someone to come by and allow me to take this fabric. Wait for someone with more power to give it to me. I never took the time to think about this idea. Few people dared to challenge the five crown-bearing bishops. My followers, even in possession of a large part of my knowledge, always swore loyalty to me. I must admit that being part of the common people, after so many centuries of reigning, is more than strange to me. Between this abrupt transition and my injury, I struggle to understand their way of communicating, interacting, and exchanging all sorts of information without causing chaos worse than the very first conflict between the crowns. Have I forgotten all this? In the meantime, I walked to the healing station. I planned to take measurements for Kallamar's future hammock there. I will teach him how to sew, so that he can make a better hammock. That way we can get closer again. I will get closer to all my brothers and sisters again. Heket, did I do the right thing getting closer to you? Are you proud of this family? Stupid question since you won't read it anymore. Forgive my lack of judgment, sister. I will not make the same mistake with your brothers.
I tried to announce myself, but no one answered. Thinking the place was empty, I pushed the curtain to enter, but Kallamar was there. He was taking a nap, slumped on his desk next to an empty and dirty bowl. He looked exhausted. I took advantage of this deep sleep to operate discreetly. I grabbed his tape measure from a box near the desk, taking care to move its contents as little as possible, and I stretched it out enough to measure the space taken up by his makeshift hammock. I would have preferred to unfold and then extend it for greater precision, but I did not want to take the risk of waking him up. Too bad if the pieces of fabric that we cut are not exactly the same length. It is not necessary. His sleep seemed to make him feel safe. I would like to know the threat he is fleeing. That could be a strong argument.
The memory of my sister asleep in bed came back to me. These memories are not painful. Well, yes, they hurt, sometimes very badly. However, this one was not painful. With a gesture whose source I cannot name, I once again placed a hand on my youngest's head. I regretted my gesture at first since he woke up with a start. His gaze transmitted to me a terror that I know by heart. He was afraid. He was afraid of the monster, of the beast that had placed a paw on his head in the hope of tearing it off.
Then he looked at me. He sighed. He said hello, Shamura, how are you. I searched for my words to give him the answer he was waiting for. By the time I found the answer that would please him, he had fallen asleep again. He had turned his head. I saw him shaking like a leaf while forcing himself to move as little as possible. I wonder how he does this while sleeping.

I let Kallamar rest so I could go back to get my fabric. The Lamb was there, sewing something. Seeing me made him both delighted and worried, which I suppose was caused by the absence of a cane since he immediately asked me, when greeting me, where it had gone. I told him the truth, that I wanted to move forward without it, and he sighed without insisting. I asked him if I could retrieve the fabric I had chosen but it was not he who retrieved it for me. He called someone. This someone searched the boxes. Then he joined us. And I faced Narinder, holding my precious cotton in his arms. He is going to tear it. He had my cotton.
He too seemed very surprised to see me, so much so that he just gave the fabric to the Lamb before fleeing away.

I don’t understand why Narinder was there. Actually, he was following the Lamb. But no, why would he follow him? He can follow him for no reason. Did he have a nightmare? He didn’t have his lamp. He must have left it in his room. Maybe he wants a hammock too. I’ll sew him one. I’ll sew him a nice soft hammock. That is what he likes, I think.

I just realized that I have no sewing tools. I only have the fabric, I didn't keep the tape measure from the care center, I need a cutting tool, a cutting tool, a cutting tool,
I will go back to the sewing workshop tomorrow. I could borrow the tools needed for this creation.  I will bring Kallamar to start teaching him how to sew.
I think my plan is going well. On the other hand, I am wary of the followers who keep following me with their eyes every time I go out, as if I were going to die a second time with each step. I am not going to die, am I? I don't want to die. I want to look at the moon.
The moon.
I can carve the moon on my cane.

I took my cane. I didn’t have an engraving tool so I simply used my claws. I grabbed my prey to leave the mark of my superiority, to prove to it, to prove to everyone else that I am its owner and not the other way around.
I planted my claw in the wood, and I engraved, near the handle, very small but clearly visible to my eyes, a crescent moon.
Then I thought of Heket, once again. I would like to pay homage to her on my cane. I don’t know what to engrave. I find that a frog is too banal a symbol, and there is no room.
I understand. I have to find the single symbol that best represents each member of our family. Our crowns are no longer the symbols of our power, we need something more personal.

We need to develop as individuals. We need to impose our tastes, our personalities on the world. We need to wage war on the normality that rejects us.
I am an individual.
I am a person.
I am a person who loves knowledge and the moon.

For now, the moon I have engraved is quite ordinary. It is a crescent moon. A drawing, as simple as it gets. However, I have no doubt that this drawing will gain value as I progress. I cannot wait to admire the full moon.

The pain in my legs has returned and it is excruciating, it hurts as if I had been running through the woods for hours. I do not remember running away or chasing anyone, though. I did not write anything like that in my journal. I will ask Kallamar to massage my legs with a herbal ointment. He made a lot of ointments during his adolescence. Whenever one of his younger siblings arrived with pain, he would offer an ointment that was supposed to ease it. He made all kinds of them. He even made jars especially for each of us with a generic ointment. I think it smelled like flowers. I remember. It hurts, I hurt. As I remember. It hurt when I opened the jar. No, my head. Kallamar had created a fragrant ointment to calm his anxieties. He had given me a jar. He had drawn a spider web on the lid. I opened it and smelled a flower. I think it was camellia.

Now I know what to do with my cane.
I know what I'm going to engrave on it. I'm going to make it a cane that I can use with pride.

My cane is getting more pretty.

Chapter Text

As I measure the fabric, I wonder; do these measurements have any value? This hammock is for my brother. This hammock is for my brother.
I walked a lot, I was in pain, he got very upset, why get so upset, I am fine, I do not miss anything, yes, I miss a brother, I am fine.
my cane shakes and it shakes so hard
I took measurements. I measured. I sewed as best I could. Maybe I failed. There's no discharge in the war. Did I cut the fabric the right way?

I cut the fabric
a large piece of fabric, without the slightest doubt.
I mustn't think about what existed before this hammock. Only this hammock exists. Only this hammock exists.
As I cut the fabric, I ask myself; are my gestures straight enough?
As I cut the fabric I create the hammock, I create an existence

my legs were sore, so sore yesterday. This morning Kallamar got very angry because I was in pain still. He understood that I had not brought my cane and, the struggle having got the better of my energy, I explained everything to him. This cane thing again. This cane again. I hate it. I hate it so much. It is so ugly. He massaged my legs. He remade his old ointment. No, it was not the same ointment. It did not smell of camellia. Or maybe it did. It smelled good. He massaged my legs while scolding me for my refusal to take the cane with me. useless piece of wood I hate it I hate it I hate it
He also took the opportunity to change my bandages. I must write it down so I do not forget. If he forgets no one will remember. I will remember. I do not want to forget anymore. I cannot escape the war. I will remember I hate this piece of wood

I hate it
my brother

I hate you so much, each and every one of you, no not all
why must I wage war on inanimate things?

As I sew the fabric, I wonder; have I made the wrong decision, once again?
I haven’t talked about it between these pages but I think about it every moment, deep inside me. I know that this whole tragedy stems, at least in part, from a bunch of bad decisions. Many of these decisions were made because of me. Maybe I am the only being to blame
a bunch of bad choices
we are all going to die
yet
once
again

I carved a moon on my cane and yet it doesn’t light my way on lonely nights, I could carve a crystal but it would never shine like a real one, I could carve a flower but its sweet scent would never follow me.
its sweet scent would never follow me.
How does one perfume a fabric for a long time? A detergent, a soap would only leave a scent for a few hours, after the fabric has been cleaned. You would need a liquid concentrate, a real perfume to put on the fabric from time to time. As I sew the fabric, I wonder; should I perfume it?
Smells do not matter. There's no discharge in the war.

I had finished sewing the hammock that I wanted to give to my brother. Then the question arose of the decoration. My hands are still shaking, I think. Embroidering would be risky. I take enough risks already by getting back to sewing so early. I think this hammock is decent. I am probably wrong. Illness distorts so many things, so many things. There's no discharge in the war. I had no choice but to offer this hammock to my brother to get his opinion on my sewing. At the unfortunate price of one more defeat, I had therefore taken my cane to visit him. I walked, again, and I finally reached his place of work.

It was not as bright as I thought. It was indeed very dark. Few decorations, no potions and various and sundry medications, only an overwhelming aura of solitude. The air was completely reeking of regret and ash, as if all the candles in the world had already been consumed in this place. It was strange, and oppressive. I didn’t feel the security of a home or a medical bay. A medical bay. A medical bay. I felt something very strange, painful, unpleasant as possible. I left the place. Maybe I should have left my cane there. I would have been free at last.

So I left this sinister place. I didn't know where to look, this information seemed warmly preserved by my memory which refused to let me access it. Memory, you belong to me, you must obey me! But it did not obey.
I ended up coming across an adept; a cat, yellow in color, who was carrying vegetables. He didn't speak very loudly and stuttered a lot, yet he offered me his help. He showed me a short and very clear path, even adding that he had the same destination from time to time. I found him, surprisingly enough, very helpful. So the followers are not all complete idiots, I wonder if there are others like this cat.

His path was right. I announced my presence before entering and Kallamar was already there. He was preparing a mixture. His gaze was stuck on my cane. He didn't hide it well. I hate this piece of wood

He saw that I was carrying, in my other arm, the hammock that I had designed. He wanted to lighten my load but I told him that it was a gift for him, and he froze. He remained standing in front of me for several seconds, paralyzed with my creation in his hands. Maybe he thought it was ugly. I hope he did not think it was ugly. He ended up going to take down the old hammock to set up the new one while I took a seat at his desk, because he was afraid that I would tire myself out standing. I watched him while he examined the details of this new hammock. I think he let a few tears flow. Had my gift made him sad? I hope not. I get tired of tragic stories. I haven’t read a tale for ages. I would like to read a calm story or an old legend where no one dies. Where no one dies.
He wanted me to be the one to try it. A strange request that I accepted all the same, hoping to please him and thus advance my goal of reconciling with him. The hammock was comfortable, I think. The lining of the fabric was soft. The children should like it. Kallamar burst into tears when he saw that I could settle in well. I find that my brother cries a lot, especially lately, and I don’t know why. There's no discharge in the war. I tried to dry his tears. He backed away, as if by a survival reflex, but he seemed to want to move his hands away from me.

my hands are still shaking
why are my hands shaking?
My injury. It is my injury, in my head, that is causing other complications throughout my body. Are my mind and body one?

I had taken Heket in my arms. I think I had also taken Kallamar in my arms, a few days ago. However, today he did not seem to want this kind of contact. Instead, I gently took his hands, stroking the back with my thumbs. They were not shaking, this time. It is rather pleasant not to shake. I think that is why I do not like the cold. When I am cold, my body sometimes starts to shake. My cane shakes under my weight. I do not like my cane. I do not like the cold. Kallamar gradually stopped shaking, and we ended up sitting together in the hammock.

There were crystals on his desk. I hadn’t noticed them when I came in. In one of them passed a ray of sunlight escaping from the entrance which projected others, of multiple colors, and these complete the decoration of the office. It reminds me of the decorations at Clauneck’s lair. If he hangs crystals there, will he be surrounded by these beautiful colors? I like these colors. There's no discharge in the war. What a pity I can’t engrave any of them on my cane.

He noticed that I was looking at the crystals. He stood up and rummaged through his boxes, before pulling out a small, thick, flat crystal. He told me, for once without any tears, that it was his own gift to me. He asked me to place it higher to let the light shine through and see if it worked as well as the others. Indeed, when I reached out to place the crystal above my head, new rays of colored light appeared, scattering around me. I found it very aesthetic. During my reign, I had little interest in it. Perhaps I should have. Here is a new chance offered to me.

The light of the moon does not pass through it. However, I have tried, many times this evening, to reach out my arm towards the moon, but it does not deign to answer my call. I walked outside—having to admit defeat and take this cane for which I wish only the worst—but nowhere could I catch the evening light, which produced no color for me then. The Silk Craddle is not the most colorful territory, so it is not what I miss the most. On the other hand, I cannot deny my disappointment. I must wait until tomorrow. There's no discharge in the war. I do not like waiting or the feeling of helplessness that comes with it.

Yet this crystal is beautiful, almost as beautiful as the moon.
But is the moon so beautiful or is it my mind playing tricks on me again?
Could I have been wrong all along?

Could I have been wrong all along?

I walked in vain in search of one more victory
Perhaps to compensate for my crushing defeat against the red crown
I walked, and walked, without lowering my eyes and perhaps I should have
I refuse to submit
There's no discharge in the war

The war has no discharge from me!
Why should I walk with this cane instead of proving my superiority to these leg pains? I can walk! I can walk and I will walk! I will walk, and walk, until I prove how miserable this little thing is!

I managed to carve a small mushroom on it. It will be very good to represent Heket. Once I break this thing I will offer him this piece
there's no discharge in the war

I will break it, I will break it into a pile of little pieces, I will throw these pieces into the first bonfire that is lit, and I will dance, I will dance day and night around this fire until the last ember goes out and until I feel my legs collapse under the pain, I will dance whether it is day or night, I will dance with the moon and with the colors that the sun produces, I will dance for the love of my victory, of my family, of all the defeats that I have inflicted.

No one will stop me from dancing. I will not stop myself from dancing. It will be the most beautiful dance that the Old Faith has ever known, as well as the New Faith, as well as all those who follow them or have followed them without asking themselves the slightest question! Some followers are very stupid. There's no discharge in the war. I will wage war on ignorance and on all those who want to stop me from dancing!

I can't dance with a cane, that idea was ridiculous, I'm going to break it

No, there's a defeat that I don't want to celebrate. It doesn't bring me any joy. I don't want to name it. I don't want to think about it. I finally manage to stop thinking about it after days and days. I don't want to think about it there was so much blood that day I don't want to think about it it hurts it hurts it hurts ithurts

I lost
It hurts
It hurts and this is my punishment!

It may well be that the blood that flows only does so to write the story of all my failures! More and more blood, from my head, from her throat, from his ears, from his eye, always more blood that I do not want to see or smell anymore!
And if I still had my crown, I could lock away the first threat that presents itself!
And if I had a weapon, I could hurt anyone who stands before me!
And if I keep a cane, I could stab anyone with it!
I could stab anyone!
There's no discharge in the war !
am I just anyone?

Now the blood is still flowing from my head and I find myself holding it, perhaps in an unconscious hope of easing the pain. I have been growing tired of this pain ever since it first appeared.

If only it could go away.

If only

if only
If only!
If only I could stop running away! Rip this pain out of my entire being just as it was inflicted on me! He will pay!

He will pay for his actions just as I pay for mine!
We will pay!
There's no discharge in the war !

My cane is cracking up.

Chapter Text

defeat has a metallic taste which stains my mouth

and here I am at the healing bay, writing a few words in the hope of assuaging my shame. I find myself pathetic, pathetic I am. yet he seems not to believe it.

I wanted to meet Narinder today. I wanted to cry out my suffering to him, everything that torments this family. I wanted to tell him everything, in the smallest details, to prevent him from falling asleep this time so that he would have no way of escaping me. I wanted us to be able to talk, at last, to vomit out all the thoughts that tear apart, whatever our skulls contain. Some followers showed me the way to his tent, so I walked. Then I walked. A smell of ash. A smell of ash and burning. Then I walked. A smell of ash and burning. Then the grass seemed closer. Then I felt its taste. There was blood on the ground, I think. I no longer recognized my body. A frail and vulnerable body, spread vulgarly on a ground covered in dirt, grass, and blood. Even though I am no longer there, I still doubt that it was my real body, my actual flesh. At this moment, I had the horrible sensation of not being completely there. The Lamb carried this unknown body to the healing bay, and there I am, my legs firmly bound by a sheet, my head firmly bound by clean bandages. Kallamar wanted me to spend the night there to monitor me, as if I could do anything in this state. How could I walk like that, with such strong ties?

This hammock is comfortable. The cotton is a soft fabric, without being slippery like silk. Kallamar said I had chosen well and that his patients were delighted to be able to rest in it from time to time. I feel somewhat guilty about stealing this corner of peace from them, even if only for one night, but he told me not to worry about it. It's a difficult thing when you're watching your own brother tie up your legs. How could I not worry about restraints meant to restrict my movement, placed there by my own brother

My brother

so that was it.

Once I had regained consciousness, he had already administered a whole host of treatments, to relieve the pain said he. I suspect he gave me a treatment that also diminished my energy, as I have rarely felt so exhausted. Yet, when he was in front of me, checking that my joints were functioning properly, I think everything was fine.

We remained silent for several minutes, and I sensed a strong hesitation in my brother. He wanted to speak, to break this difficult, heavy silence, but he dared not. He doesn't dare much since he came back from purgatory, I'm told. Yet, all it took was me asking him what was wrong for everything to come out at once, as if he had been holding back water in his mouth for hours, except it was flowing from his eyes. He asked me why I was desperate to reconcile with Narinder, why we all want so much peace that will only serve as an illusion until the next catastrophe befalls us. This idea of ​​false hope kept coming up in his words, with this damn cane being part of it, but which at least, according to Kallamar, is a false hope that would allow me to dodge the next tragedy a little longer. Everyone tells me to use this journal to be honest with myself, so here it is, the thought that stains my happy ideas and that I finally expressed without artifice to my brother: I hate this fucking cane, I hate it, I hate everything that reminds me that everyone was slaughtered like cattle because of me, I want not to carry around a reminder of my daily failures, I don't care how much help it might bring me, I want to walk without having to say to myself at every step "you wouldn't have this shitty cane if you had known how to protect the bishops, the population, the people you love properly, you latrine scum"!

except allamar burst into tears. He was crying himself to the point of dehydration and screaming in pain. Maybe I should have kept those thoughts deep inside. I want not to make him cry. I hate making him cry. I made him cry. I hate making him cry. I think he was mad at me for what I said, but he hugged me anyway, and I felt no hatred from him. His hug was so tight I thought he would break a rib if he tried. He blames himself too. He thinks it's all his fault, too. He has asked me for forgiveness too many times for me to know exactly how many. He apologized for what he said before, explaining that he no longer feels any hope but is searching for it. He searches for it relentlessly and, in all the cowardice he can muster, gave me this cane hoping it would help me walk, that I at least could feel relief, enjoy life again, find a semblance of peace. He told me about this feeling he has every day, that of being one member too many in this family. Even those who have hurt others would have a role to play, but he lives with the impression that he is only making things worse with every word and every gesture. Ironic for someone who treats and heals followers every day. I do not think he is making things worse and I told him so.

He told the Lamb to confront me before him. He begged the Lamb to spare him, even if it meant killing me first. I had no idea. It had not worked anyway, since he died before me.
he died before me.
he died before me. It is since that event that he constantly thinks he is ruining everything. Since then, the images have played over and over in his head, and sometimes he finds himself paralyzed, unable to do anything with his body but drag it to a corner and wait for the images to disappear. Several times, he thought they would stay forever, that he would die for good. We are both consumed by guilt for not having handled the crisis properly. We are brought together by this guilt. We are reunited. I think I really like it when we are reunited. There is no more room for these images. He was afraid. He continues to be paralyzed by this fear. He wanted me released from purgatory but blames himself for the body that is now mine. It was indeed my body, earlier today, that collapsed to the ground. Everyone took good care of me, and I must admit that my brother's care is very effective. I feel great pride in him and all he does for us. However, I did not tell him, because I think he has endured enough today. Instead, I simply hugged him back, less forcefully due to fatigue. Little by little, his tears stopped. I did not say sorry to him, neither did I show my pride in him, but I think it was more or less the same thing.

He taught me how to chase images away from others, and from myself if I do not lose consciousness yet. I would need to check my heart, then my lungs, followed by my liver, and finally my nerves. I have not had a chance to try this yet, I hope I have no need to.

Sleep comes not to me. I would have liked to observe the moon before going to sleep, but I cannot leave my makeshift bed with these leg restraints. At least Kallamar has set up a corner for me to write. I can see my cane from here. It is standing right next to it, within arm's reach, as if inviting me to take it. To go for a walk with it, to break it once and for all, to convert it back into a decorative object. Outside light filters through the entrance. I have lifted the gift my brother gave me a short while ago there. The ray of light that passes through it takes on a beautiful color, reminding me of the decorations in Clauneck's lair. I wonder how he's doing. Is he also haunted by images no one wants? I think I like him. I would like to go back and see him, not for a card reading, but simply to check on him. I will bring Kallamar with me. It's been a long time since we've done a simple activity together. This feeling is very strange. I cannot help thinking it will not last. I sense not any imminent or distant danger. I have the bittersweet feeling that something has ended. Yes, something has ended today. At least, something has left my body, at least, something has left my mind. I feel an unusual lightness. I like this lightness, but it frightens me.

Kallamar has settled down next to me to sleep. I hope Heket and Leshy do not miss him too much, since he is not with them. For once, my first brother seems not to be experiencing restless sleep. He seems not at the height of relaxation either, but he already seems less tense than during my previous visit. I remember him sleeping, but he was trembling a lot after his brief awakening. Looking back on this, I do not think he went back to sleep. I could ask him about it, but for now, I prefer to let him enjoy this rest.

As I reread these ever-increasing pages, I realize that I have been remembering more and more lately. Memories come back to me, both good and bad, sometimes painful and sometimes not. However, I know not if the fall I experienced today is related to these memories. None of my previous entries provide any clues. Therefore, I believe it would be wise to investigate other areas of reflection.
I must admit that Kallamar was right. This journal is a functional tool with which I will, perhaps, win the war against my wounds.

On the other hand, I think the Lamb was wrong. They recommended that I focus on my own desires, my own longings, but they were never able to guide me as I hoped. Perhaps I am the one who is mistaken, once again, or perhaps I am on the right path of thought. No, actually, my desires did indeed show me the path to the beginning of healing. My desires gave me the help I needed to understand my sister's desires, as well as my first brother's. At the very least, they gave me the help I needed to finally figure out what was preventing us from being reunited without being crushed by our fears.

I admit defeat against my brother, Kallamar.

This defeat tastes of metal, grass, and tears.

This defeat smells of camellia.

One, becomes two.