Chapter Text
It had been a pain to gather all twelve followers Lamb needed to break open Shamura’s door, but they had done it. Now they were finally able to enter the Bishop’s caves. They had been focused for months on this task; for months they’d been gathering followers from Leshy’s forests, only taking breaks to care for those followers. They hadn’t even fought Leshy — they were never trying to — all they wanted was to enter Shamura’s domain. And now they could.
Tentatively, they took a step forward…
And started their journey toward their Bishop.
The moon was rising in the clearing of the forest, and the colony of sheep trickled into their tents. Candles were blown out and fires were extinguished as the village — if you could even call it that — went to sleep.
Only when the last light disappeared and they heard the noise of their family sound asleep did Lamb pull the figure out from underneath their pillow. It was a hand-carved wooden shrine of the purple crown. It was shoddy at best — they were still learning, after all — but they hoped it was enough to fulfill its purpose.
They knew they weren’t supposed to do this: to worship one of The Old Faith. They were the ones to order a genocide on their race, after all. The One Who Waits should be the one they pray to, for he is supposed to save them or assign a savior amongst them. To protect them from this awful fate that has been destined for them, but still, they worshiped Shamura. Still, they give them their devotion.
They set the shrine in front of them and began to pray.
Lamb prayed to meet them one day, for them to understand that they were devoted and loyal, that they would never be the reason for The Old Faith’s downfall. They prayed that they will be spared upon meeting their Bishop, that they will be merciful to them and let them worship. And they prayed so so deeply for their heretical family to be spared; they could be persuaded to become as devoted as they already were.
It was a mystery to Lamb if any of their prayers would be heard, but still, they prayed. They prayed as hard as they could.
When they were done, they put the shrine back under their pillow and replaced it with a small block of wood and a knife. They sat outside their family’s tent for the moon to light their carving. They had begun to learn many things; along with wood carving, they were learning construction, weaving, and cooking. They even began to learn how to fight. The flock was impressed by their ambition and vigor to help the village, though they knew not why they started. In truth, Lamb had wished to impress Shamura with their drive to learn, and they thought that a strong ability to fight would prove them worthy to serve. Of course, their desire for knowledge wasn’t just for Shamura, rather it was that desire that lead them to the God of Wisdom. The countless books they’d heft around every time they moved camp made clear of that for them. They hoped that would be clear to the Bishop.
They hoped their Bishop would be happy.
Finally, they had made it to their god’s temple. Finally, they were going to talk to the Bishop they had been worshiping all their life. They could barely contain their excitement, or nerves for that matter. Their heart pounded rabbit-fast against their chest and they took a deep breath before entering the heart of The Wise One’s temple.
The hall was long and damp, occasionally intercepted by the silk cocoons they had seen across the cradle. Pillars topped with skulls and candles lined the walls, spikes or statues in between those. They could see Shamura at the end of the hall, surrounded by their followers, undoubtedly waiting for them. With no small amount of excitement, they bounded toward the deity.
When they entered the room their gaze fell upward to the Bishop’s face, awing at their magnificence. This was far from the first time they had seen their god in person, but every time they never failed to amaze them.
A deep breath was heard from Shamura, a small moment of silence before they began to speak. “He of havoc, he of blight; she of hunger, they of-”
“WAIT! Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait!” Lamb yelled frantically for them to stop, waving their hands in the air. To their surprise, they did, a confused and skeptical look on the god’s face. “Before we do this whole ‘fighting each other to the death’ thing, may I have the honor to speak with you?” They clasped their hooves together, looking pleadingly at the Bishop.
Shamura stared down at them. Lamb could have no idea what thoughts were running through their head; they could not read another crown bearer’s mind. They could only hope that they were considering their request.
The God of War’s eyes penetrated through the lamb, no doubt scouring for any tricks or deceit. They sighed, seemingly discontent with what they found, or what they didn’t find. With malice in their voice, they answered “Then speak.”
“Up until the day of my sacrifice,” Lamb began, “I had only done what I thought would honor you.” They rested their hooves on their chest. “Even now I only wish to do right by your name.”
“I never worshipped The One Who Waits, and I only dawned the Red Crown so I could have the privilege of meeting you. Please understand I have no desire to fight you or the other Bishops.” They dropped to one knee, bowing before Shamura. “O’ Wise One, I wish to dedicate myself to your cult, to serve you as one of your loyal followers, now and forever. I beg thee, spare me now and I will serve you faithfully.”
Silence was what greeted Lamb. They did not look up from their bow as Shamura stood there, even their followers were noiseless as the god thought. The air was thick as the fate of the lamb, and the future of The Old Faith was to be decided.
The silence felt like it had run on forever when Lamb finally heard a sigh release from Shamura’s lips. “Very well then. I’ll accept you into my cult, under two conditions.”
Lamb bowed further. “Anything for you, my Bishop.”
“First, you shall eradicate your cult. I want no member left alive. Second,” They extend a black, clawed hand toward the sheep. “Relinquish the power of the Red Crown to me so I can assure no heretic will be able to wield it.”
The lamb looked at the god. “My Bishop, I will gladly hand over the crown to you, but my followers-”
“You think you are in a position to negotiate?” Shamura’s voice boomed, shaking the walls and disturbing the cobwebs and nests around the room.
Lamb did not falter. “... My followers can be a valuable asset to you, they are skilled in a great many things! They were vital to making the grounds I reside in even livable!”
The violet spider relaxed slightly, though anger was still present in their eyes. “And what makes you think I need your followers?”
The lamb shook their head. “I merely wish to replace some of your numbers I have regretfully destroyed. A repentance for my transgression, if you will. And still, they may be more useful than you realize.”
Another moment of silence as Shamura contemplated. “Fine. I will let your followers join my cult as well, but if anything happens, the blame will rest on your shoulders.”
They bowed again. “Yes, my Bishop.”
“Now the crown.”
“ Yes , my Bishop.” They removed the crown from their head and held it out to Shamura, cutting all ties they had with it. Soon after, it drifted into Shamura’s outstretched hand; as soon as it made contact with their palm, they quickly tucked it underneath their robe.
“Go now, and retrieve your flock. I expect you to return by sunrise tomorrow.”
“Yes, my Bishop.” They stood, a joyful look on their face as their eyes met Shamura’s. “I will not disappoint you.” They then hurried out the door even faster than they had entered.
“The rest of you are dismissed.” Shamura addressed their followers once the lamb was out of sight. The cultists looked around at each other with slight confusion as to what just happened before filing out of a different door. Soon the god was alone with their thoughts in the large, empty room. They had so much to think about while the lamb was away, and they didn’t know if they could keep up with all of them. They sighed. “I can only hope I have made the right decision.”
