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The Vessel had a name, once. Before they were the Vessel, before they were Leader, before they were the Lamb. That was a long time ago. But they remembered. Keenly.
They remembered the smell of their mother's wool, and the sound of their father's laughter, the feeling of a hand in their own.
As they stood in the center of the physical portal to the Gateway, all their flock around them, they remembered their lives, too. Every detail was important to them.
How they had rescued Julno from Silk Cradle, cutting them free from the web. How they enjoyed listening to their poetry as they flitted around the camp.
How they had sat with Mamer in the nursery for hours, telling sweet made-up stories. How they watched her grow into a strong, caring woman.
How they comforted Nano when his wife Hugrebre had died. How they had prepared her for burial with their own hands, spoken words to consecrate her forever. How the flowers felt so heavy in their hands. How their eyes blurred with tears they did not hide.
Playing the drum circle and dancing around the maypole. Chopping trees and tending crops. Laying down to rest among the flock at night. The bonfire and the sun and the moon.
They all trusted the Lamb with so much of their lives. As they slipped from one world to the next, they wondered. Were they doing the right thing? What was the right thing?
The Lamb stepped lightly onto the path. They had only been here in dreams. They were surprised at how solid it all felt beneath their hooves.
He was waiting.
He was always Waiting, wasn't he?
The Lamb walked forward. One step at a time.
At the end of the path, the One Who Waits still wore his chains, but his excitement was visceral. It affected the very air of the realm, hazy and heated. His voice echoed through the Lamb’s very being. “Vessel, I relinquish you from your service to the Red Crown. Return it to me, and embrace the end that awaits. With this last sacrifice of my most devoted Follower, I will be freed. Finally... I will be FREE!”
The Lamb stood at the end of the path. The One Who Waits’ attendants stood stony faced and at attention as normal. A long silence fell over them, the One Who Waits watching with growing impatience. “Approach, Vessel.”
Still, they hesitated. The Red Crown sat heavy on their brow. “I'm afraid I have failed you, my Lord.”
“Oh…?” The One Who Waits let his curiosity color his tone.
“When I made my promise to you, I was alone. I had nowhere to go, and nothing to lose. You saved me, last of my kind, and promised justice.”
“Your gratitude is unnecessary, Vessel. We made a deal, did we not?”
“We did.” They hesitated, staring through the veil that partially obscured their God’s face. “But I am different now than I was then. There are many that rely on me, who have put their faith and trust in me.” The One Who Waits scoffed, but the Lamb continued, “If I kneel before you in supplication, my Lord, and you take me as you have promised, what becomes of my flock?”
“Your flock?” He laughed, a hollow, distorted sound. “It becomes my flock, Vessel. They shall tend to me.”
The Lamb looked thoughtful. “And what of them, my Lord? Will you clothe them and feed them and house them? Will you listen to their worries and their wants? Will you soothe their tempers and indulge their desires? Will you care for them from egg to grave, as if they are your own flesh and blood?”
The One Who Waits roared in annoyance, his voice like crunching rocks in the void that surrounded them. “Preposterous. What God would?”
“Hmmm… What God would, indeed?”
“I grow tired of this conversation, Vessel. Lay your life at my feet and relinquish the Red Crown.”
“...I am sorry, my Lord.” Without a word or motion from them, the Red Crown was a wicked scythe in the Lamb’s hands. Their mouth a hard line, their eyes focused on his. “I will make this quick.”