Chapter Text
I seemed to have gained a reputation for being patient. What little was left of my following had begun calling me The One Who Waits no longer than a year after my imprisonment. They seemed to be under the impression that I was biding my time for the perfect way to return. In truth, however, there was simply nothing I could do.
I despised the rituals of the Old Faith. Sacrifice is the easiest way for a God to increase their power, and the bishops used this to the fullest. They would kill hundreds, thousands in a single year; but not a single one of them would pass through my realm. The souls of the sacrificed held power, power that the bishops used to grow stronger. Everything they were, everything they could have been, vanished in an instant.
My siblings had ruled with fear. They earned devotion through fear. I was the only one to discover what they had not; caring for one's subjects led to stronger loyalty and devotion than fear ever could. I made my followers feel safe, and as such, more and more of my siblings' followers defected to my side.
After they discovered that prophecy, it was only a matter of time before their paranoia won out.
After being chained, I was ecstatic to discover I could still view the world through my idols. Anything built in my image, any item used for prayer in my name, I could see it all. It wasn't long before I began to wish I was confined entirely to the view of the infinite white void.
The slaughter began immediately. I did not want to see it, but I could not turn away. They tore down my idols, and I felt the sting as each of my eyes into the mortal plane vanished one by one. In the past, when I could do nothing to prevent an unjust death, I could at least lend comfort to the souls passing over. But at this time, none could know peace in the end when Death himself was chained.
My altars, my idols, my temples, my people, my world; it had all been torn down centuries before the day I now recount. Centuries without knowing if my siblings, my captors, had managed to snuff out the last lights that still flickered of the lambs.
Instead of guiding my people, I had been trapped in my own realm. A small pocket of it I had long ago sat aside as a refuge had been turned against me. I was unable to change form to a mortal size, so what few precious items I have kept there for safe-keeping were all but unusable.
I still held onto the hope that my siblings were still the ones I grew up with, but eventually I had to face the music. If I was to ever find a way to return, my siblings would have to fall.
Only once had I the power to reach out to someone for help. I strained my magic, calling the one I had the strongest connection to. A rat by the name of Ratau had answered me. He was no warrior, but he held his values and morals high. He had made his home outside of the lands of the Old Faith, living off the land with little contact with society outside trading for supplies.
He had made a small altar dedicated to me. It was not much, but it was more than anyone had done in over 500 years. I came to learn that he took up unearthing what little remained of my legacy as a sort of hobby.
I had no one else to turn to, and I was not about to wait until I managed to scrounge up enough power to call out once more. I convinced him to crusade in my name. I channeled any power I could get through him.
He saved many lives and built a grand temple in my name. However, it was all for naught. Even with the protections set in place to keep our following safe, the onslaught of curses was too much. The few who survived the famines Heket had cast decided to evacuate in fear of the wrath of the Bishops.
Ratau knew it was over. Even with power backed by devotion he was unable to take Leshy on. There was only so much power I could grant Ratau without withering away. He did not want to be a leader, and we both knew he was not meant to destroy the Old Faith himself. He returned the Red Crown to me, but he retained a few abilities.
I only knew anything of the outside world again when a cloth-wrapped gift from my eldest sibling arrived, I thought it to be a trick. A cruel reminder of what little material items remained in my possession.
It was only after I heard the infants’ cries that I truly felt angry.
Seeing the kittens laid before me, a gift, I felt nothing but anger towards Shamura. Innocent children, taken from their home and family, only to be laid before Death.
I strained against my chains to reach for the children. As I carefully removed the blanket, the cries began to quiet as two sets of curious eyes laid on me. I scooped them up as gently as I could manage and held them close to my chest. It was much too cold here, and they were oh so small. I feared they would slip between my thinning fingers.
The smaller of the two dug his claws into my robes. He became distressed as he soon realised he could not find a heartbeat to comfort him.
I named them Aym and Baal . I knew I was not fit to care for them, I knew they deserved better than this prison, but there was nothing I could do.
It was ten years more before I heard from the outside world again. I felt the wisp of weak magic call to me, and I reached for it like a drowning man reached to break the surface of the water.
Someone was making me an Idol. An object made to look like me for use in worship. I was confused, by all accounts my appearance had been lost to time, only held in the memories of the few who had lived long enough to meet me in person.
I looked through the object’s eyes into those of the one creating it. I saw a lamb, undoubtedly. They were littered with scars and infection, their eyes looked tired but they held a hopefulness I couldn't describe. Their wool was so dirty I could not discern its original color as it matted to the back of their head in such thick knots I was unable to tell how long it should have been. A deep scar cut into their cheekbone, its gruesome shape and form indicative of an injury that once held a horrendous infection. The clothes they wore were tattered and worn, almost as dirty as their wool.
The lamb took care in carving out the features of the idol. With each stroke of their knife the wooden figure came to form my image in greater detail. The knife they used was of some kind of crystal, one they had likely chipped into shape themselves. I wished I could speak to them, to ask them every question under the sun about the outside world, but I could only view.
With a final stroke of the knife they announced, “There! All done.” Their voice came out light and a tad raspy. Their throat seemed to strain with the effort of speaking, if only just a little. It was not the sound of someone who had a sore throat as a result of sickness, but the sound of a voice with little to no use. They held the idol up high, turning it around in the light, “I hope I did that right, only had the one reference to go off of.” They spoke with a tone as though they were apologising for their hypothetical failure.
I took the time to look around the room. I recognised it immediately as a crypt. A tomb specially built for the dead and their remembrance, though I imagined not much remembrance of these individuals had happened recently.
“I’m not entirely sure what my goal was here,” They spoke after a short time of silence, “But I guess I just want to apologise.”
I had no idea what they could possibly have to apologise for. If anything, they should have been mad at me for failing to protect their people.
“I’ve been using your old temples and crypts as hiding places, away from the god of chaos. I feel like that might be disrespectful, so I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”
‘Those places were built for you and your people,’ I wanted to say, but I couldn't stop them from feeling bad for simply surviving.
“Let’s see… the only things I really know about you is that you’re called The One Who Waits; God of Death , you used to be the god the lambs lived under, and you never sacrificed anyone…” They stopped for a moment and rubbed their throat, likely sore from talking, “A little ironic for the God of Death, huh?”
I had to agree, of all my siblings it seemed most unlikely that I would be the one to avoid killing.
“I know gods can see through their idols, but I’m not sure if this counts as an idol. I just… I’m the last one. The last lamb…”
I felt my breath catch in my throat. I knew that was likely to be the case, but hearing it said out loud made it feel all too real. It made my failure feel all too real.
They turned their head away, suddenly unable to look the wooden figure in the eyes, “I feel like if I let myself be captured, if I let myself die, I’ll be letting them all down. I’ll be letting you down… But I know I won’t survive much longer. They don’t know where I am, they don’t even know who’s realm I’m in, but they know I’m still alive and they won’t stop searching until they find me and kill me. I don’t know what to do next.”
Even if they could hear me, I would not have had an answer.
“If any of those… heretics see me, I make sure they don’t ever get to see anything else again.” They spat those words out with venom, “I don’t stay in one place for too long, I only carry the essentials… but even if they aren't fast enough to catch me, I won’t always be fast enough to keep it up. One of these days I’m going to get injured or sick to the point where I can’t keep running. The moment I stop to rest is the moment I’m captured.”
I was unable to stop the tears from falling. I was glad Aym and Baal were asleep, as I would not have been able to explain what was happening. I felt their imminent doom just as much as they seemed to.
“Even if I know I can’t keep running, I have to try. I’m not just going to lie down and die. If they want to catch me, I’m going to make it as difficult as possible for them. I won’t go down without a fight.” They stopped their rant and hung their head before exasperatedly whispering to themselves, “Why the hell am I doing this? I’m just talking to myself… how have I not completely lost it by now?”
The light peeking out from the doors to the crypt had finally dissipated, indicating that night had fallen outside. The lamb quietly grabbed their things and placed them in their satchel, leaving the idol in a position so it’s head peaked out over the top.
“No need to leave you in the dark, if you really are there.” They walked over to the doors and carefully pushed them open.
I was unsure if things were about to get better or worse.
With my track record, the latter was the most likely outcome.