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Kallamar’s domain truly was the ocean. Each room sunk the lamb deeper, growing darker and colder. They couldn’t tell when it was night anymore, perhaps the ocean didn’t know what ‘night’ was . The liquefied air clogged their lungs and the seaweed clung at their ankles, forcing them to drag their sword.
Chained to the ground and caged with their kin, wool has never been so suffocating. If it wasn’t so dark, all they’d see would be white. Where was their sister? Is she the one behind them? The lamb on the right, could it be their brother, or were they moved to another cage? Who was the lamb nuzzling their head? Lambert pretended it was their mother, and hoped it wasn’t.
Casting Cleansing Fire, the room lit up to reveal a guardian. The flame's light reflect off its mask and sword before petering out. The lamb would have to fight blind. The water always shifted first before anything moved, pushing back against even its inhabitants, this was Lambert’s only warning.
One by one the flock disappeared. The empty space gave the prisoners room to stretch their legs, though they dared not. Instead, they merely shifted, like moving up a line. Eventually, it would be their turn. they counted the sheep until then.
Swords clashed, holding each other at bay. Lambert relaxed their grip and sidestepped, allowing the guardian to stumble forward. they casted more curses, focused on brightening the room rather than hitting the enemy. The guardian was recovering before the room darkened again, the lamb casting another curse. Each shot of fire was a snapshot of the guardian in motion, chasing them down in the dark. The lamb readied their sword, preparing for the attack. The water rushed in front of them, signaling the lamb to strike down. It landed a hit, but on something far too light and small. A minnow .
The water pushed against the back of their head and the lamb was quick to turn around, but their sword was caught on seaweed. They casted a curse instead, missing, helpless to the sword swinging at their neck.
Head on a pedestal, the bishops stand before them. They closed their eyes as they hear the axe fall.
Face down on the sand, Lambert refused to stand up. Sometimes they weren’t fully fixed when they appeared in The One Who Waits’s domain, and they were scared to have their body rise headless. They didn’t have to concern themselves with this worry, however, as their head had risen without their body instead.
Limbs flailing below them, Lambert can only watch their body grow smaller the higher they were taken.
“How long did you plan on laying there?” Death asked, eyes analyzing them behind his veil.
The lamb grimaced, aware that they could technically speak even if half their throat was missing. They glanced at The One Who Waits, who was unblinking and patient. No, patient wasn't the right word, they were merely curious.
Lambert made a noise, it tickled their throat more than it hurt, entering into a coughing fit. “Hrk- Hak-ha! Ha ha, this feels funny” they recovered, raising their hand to massage their neck on instinct. They staggered when they felt the top of it, how it vibrated under their fingers.
If the God noticed Lambert’s distress, he ignored it, “Hm, this is the fifth time you’ve died in Anchordeep prematurely. Why?”
“Well-” Lambert rolled their hands, searching for the words that’d make them sound less pathetic, “-It’s just…dark.”
“It was dark.” He reiterated.
Lambert averted their gaze, but saw Aym leering at them, so they returned Death’s stare. It was silent, save for the few colliding chains that clinked. The lamb wanted to clear their throat, but they felt it would be mistaken as a show of weakness.
The lambs head was brought closer to the Gods face, their body getting picked up too on the other hand. Index finger and thumb cradling Lambert's face, the God hummed, “I see. Your eyes are not yet designed for this small trife”.
“Excuse me, but lambs have amazing night vision. Something’s just wrong with Anchordeep” they rolled their eyes, arms crossing twenty feet from them.
The One Who Waits cackled, their chains clanking against each other, “Remember, you’re in the domain of Kallamar, a coward who runs away from the light. Only my siblings and I were able to navigate his place freely.”
His grin turned into a scowl, aimed at the crown, “I would have thought that my power would have extended to you by now.”
The lamb quirked a brow “You’re able to see through the crown can’t you? Why don’t you just tell me where to go this time. It’d definitely save me the trouble of running into dead ends.”
Lambert didn’t receive an answer. Instead, they felt a bony finger press into both ends of their neck. They sucked in a breath they did not need, stifling the coughing (or laughing) that came from the God's prodding. The itch was unbearable, and they worried that bile would start to rise and spill onto Death's finger.
Ah, but that was it, wasn’t it? The lamb, though dead, was breathing. A curious thing, their God was. This was as close to life he could ever be. The lamb settled on laughing his itch away.
The One Who Waits pupils dilated at the vibrations, and some shackled part of him was reminiscent of purring. He didn’t know sheep could do that. He didn’t know if he could do it himself.
His fingers lingered, then pulled back. “You’ve lost your bell.”
“Oh, I didn’t notice.” The lamb pressed his mouth into a line when their God’s eyes narrowed at their sarcasm.
“I’ll fix it now.” He said, reattaching Lambert's head. “This is the second time you’ve lost your head.”
There it was, that dreaded statement. The lamb thrummed their fingers against their side, wincing when they felt their spine snap back together. What could they say? Yeah, it is! 1 out of 10, would not recommend .
“You need not explain yourself, lamb.” Death reassured. “This is a failing on my part. I will make your collar stronger. Resilient.”
With a firm and tender swipe of his thumb against the lambs neck, a new collar appeared. The bell ringing idly as it was formed.
Lambert reached for their neck, feeling the textile on them. It felt to be made out of fiber, weighed down by the bell. “Can you make it tighter? I don’t like how the bell swings.”
“Of course. Turn around.”
Doing as they were told, the lamb faced the other way. There was a pinch at the base of their neck, the collar now sitting snug. Lambert wondered why their God couldn’t just fix it out of thin air like they did the first time, but they weren’t complaining.
“Better?”
“Yeah.”
They sat in silence, sharing each other's gaze. The disciples shifted in their places beneath them, uncomfortable for being present in this moment meant for those two alone.
The One Who Waits hummed, “By chance, do you have a crystal on you? I need only one.”
Lambert opened the crown, rummaging inside, “I should have some”. They stuck their tongue out as their arm sunk deeper into the crown, ears going up when they found some. They laid them out against Death’s palm.
He chose the brightest one, and gingerly held it at eye level. “This’ll do, lamb, great work” he muttered the last part, Lambert just barely hearing it.
He fashioned it into a bracelet, whispering some kind of blessing. “Your hand” he beckoned, the lamb supplied.
He tied the string over their wrist once, twice, thrice over. Lambert rolled their hand, testing the fit. It was warm against their skin.
At no complaints, the God mused a smile. “Good. Next time you traverse Anchordeep, the crystal should carry light with it. Make sure to lay it under the sun first, it need only a few hours. It’ll last you a week before needing the sun again, though I'm certain you’ll be done before ever worrying about that.”
Lambert nodded, “Thank you. What do you want in return?”
The God’s ear flicked, “Only the death of the last bishops.”
“Well, besides that” they urged.
The One Who Waits said nothing, needing nothing, wanting only his freedom. The lamb pouted, before widening their eyes. They reached into the crown, pulling out a flower necklace.
“Give me your hand” they asked.
Death raised one for them, feeling his little finger get pulled out by his vessel. The necklace just barely hung past his nail.
“When you’re free, I’ll make you a better one” Lambert grinned, ears wagging.
Narinder stilled, fixated on the bracelet. “I see.” he peered at the crown, then the bell, and finally the lamb's face. “I look forward to it.”
Lambert was back on cult grounds, content. They looked at the offerings box, thinking of jewelry to make for their God.